Tale of Years: Prequel One-Shots and Outtakes
by Jessica314
Summary: ***New outtake: 1936: The Girl in My Arms*** This is an ongoing collection of Twilight prequel one-shots and outtakes from my Tale of Years series (full-length canon prequel stories). Most of them can be read alone. Carlisle changing Edward, Maria in Calgary, Jasper in Galveston, Aro's earliest schemes, and much more. Details and chronological index inside.
1. Intro and Index by Year

**Welcome to Tale of Years: Prequel One-Shots and Outtakes! This began as a catch-all for outtakes to the main stories: existing scenes in another character's POV, scenes off-stage of Edward, etc. It's expanding now to also include any and all one-shots set before the Saga begins (so anything from Amun's creation to the day Bella starts at Forks High School in 2005). So while not all the one-shots will relate directly to a particular story in the Series, it's all Tale of Years (a.k.a. my prequel head-canon). It's pretty easy to tell from the years given which ones are outtake scenes to a main story, and which ones are stand-alone one shots. But most of the outtakes could probably be read alone, as well. A couple could be considered spoilers for some part of a main story, so I've put a warning note at the top of those.**

**I would really like to have a lot of reader input for the ideas, so please feel free to request outtakes or one-shots as you go along. I think this will be a fun way for everyone to pitch in and have a hand in the writing, and it can be my way of saying thank you to everyone who has been enjoying Tale of Years along with me. I am having a blast with this series- the writing itself has been such a growing experience for me, but also the feedback and interest of everyone is always such an inspiration, and makes it really fun. THANK YOU! :) You have all given me so many great ideas, from Demetri's change to Edward learning to deal with his gift as a newborn to Peter and Charlotte meeting the Cullens... the possibilities are endless! I'm so excited! :)**

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**Here is an index of the Outtakes and One-Shots that you will find here, in chronological order by year:**

**22\. 1300-900 BCE: Pygmalion (Aro's first few centuries)**

**24\. 1663-1935: Last Meal (what each of the Cullens ate last in their human lives)**

**16\. 1862: Christmas in Gray (Jasper's cavalry regiment arrives in Galveston)**

**17\. 1863: New Year's in Red (Jasper in the Battle of Galveston)**

**18\. 1863: Eternity in White (Jasper's evacuation mission and transformation)**

**23\. 1918: Edward Cullen 1 of 2 (Carlisle changes Edward)**

**25\. 1918: Edward Cullen 2 of 2 (Edward's awakening, first hunt)**

**3\. 1920-42ish: Awakening (Alice's awakening and visions)**

**2\. 1921: Monster (Carlisle finds out the truth about Charles Evenson)**

**4\. 1927: Daydream (Edward fantasizing about human blood, a few weeks before he leaves)**

**7\. 1927: Failure (Carlisle's POV of Edward's departure and the day following)**

**8\. 1931: Complete 1 of 2 (Carlisle's POV of Edward's return)**

**9\. 1931: Complete 2 of 2 (Carlisle's POV of Edward's return)**

**28\. 1933: The Girl in the Mirror (newborn Rosalie)**

**15\. 1935: Joyful Duty (Carlisle's sermon and POV of Rosalie and Emmett's wedding)**

**29\. 1936: The Girl in my Arms (Emmett and Rosalie's first date)**

**20\. 1936: Journey to the Center of the Earth (Charlotte/Peter part 1)**

**21\. 1936: From the Earth to the Moon (Charlotte/Peter part 2)**

** ... ..1941: _Sic Semper Tyrannis_, chapters 1-3 (Jasper's last weeks with Maria and escape)*****

**5\. 1948: Finally! (Alice's POV of the day she meets Jasper)**

**6\. 1948: Hope (Jasper's POV of the day he meets Alice)**

**13\. 1949: Glory Days (Maria decides to go looking for Jasper)**

**19\. 1950: The Three Musketeers (Nick's POV of a studying/basketball night)**

**14\. 1950: Barely Human (Carlisle acts human at work)**

**10\. 1950: Arrival 1 of 2 (Jasper's reflections of his two years alone with Alice, and the beginning of their journey to the Cullen Family)**

**11\. 1950: Arrival 2 of 2 (Jasper's POV of their journey and meeting the Cullens)**

**12\. 1950: First Shopping Trip (Esme and Rosalie taking Alice shopping for the first time)**

**27\. 1950: Jaundice (Maria's POV of the Calgary Incident)**

**26\. 1955: Recital (Edward's Senior Recital, Esme POV)**

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*****_Sic Semper Tyrannis_ is a separate story that splits off into an AU timeline, but its first three chapters are still in canon and so they can double as prequel outtakes here. They detail Jasper's last weeks with Maria and Peter coming back for him. The only major difference in headcanon between those chapters and Tale of Years is that in SST, Jasper and Maria were intimate in past years. That difference doesn't have much impact on these chapters, though.**


	2. 1921: Monster

**Okay, this seemed to be the favorite so far, so here we go: the scene where Carlisle almost went out and killed Charles Evenson (referenced a couple times in the main stories). While this scene was never discussed in canon, there had to be a moment when Carlisle first learned the truth about Charles, and I like to think that this was one time that he truly lost his cool.**

**Warning: Domestic abuse is obviously a theme here, and though it is not explicitly described, there are some details given. Please, if this is a sensitive topic for you, consider skipping this one.**

**Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its universe at the property of Stephenie Meyer. No profit is made here and no offense intended.**

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**Carlisle POV**

It was one of those kisses that makes time lose all meaning.

We had come into my office- which doubled as the family library- to find my copy of _Gulliver's Travels_. Esme had just had one of her "surprise memories", as she called them. She was just five months old, and while many of her human memories were lost forever, she would occasionally gasp out loud and excitedly tell me something that she had suddenly remembered for the first time. It turned out that she had been reading this particular book on the day she had gone into labor with her son, and had never finished it. I thought it an odd choice for my gentle, sweet-spirited wife- Jonathan Swift wasn't exactly known for his generous views. But in her human life, as now, my Esme had been quite intelligent, and interested in any story which examined human culture.

So when she said that she would like to finish _Gulliver's Travels_ someday, I pulled her here into my office to give her my own copy. But on the way to the built-in bookshelves on the far wall, we had somehow ended up here in the deep leather chair which sat just in front of the shelves. Instead of reaching for the shelves, just twelve inches away, my hands found themselves tangled in her hair, and as soon as my lips met hers, time stopped.

It was a peculiar thing- something humans weren't capable of. We sat there, both frozen mid-kiss, our eyes open and staring, for an entire minute. Three minutes. Even when we heard the front door close quietly- Edward making his discreet escape- we didn't blink. Nine minutes.

Six hours.

Ten…

Somewhere in the middle of the night, we finally closed our eyes and came to life again. But it wasn't until another four hours later that Esme suddenly giggled, breaking my concentration.

"Hmm?" I murmured into her back.

"Weren't you supposed to go to work tonight?" she asked playfully, stretching like a cat as I sat back up.

"Is it evening already?" I asked, blinking at the window.

"It's five in the morning," she laughed, nodding toward the clock on the mantle.

"Oh!" I sat up fully, but relaxed again after a moment. "What's the point? My shift is almost over, anyway," I said lazily, closing my eyes again. I had taken off work for a full month, saying that I was travelling to the wild jungles of Brazil to kickstart a medical clinic. I had my presentation already done, and pictures to boot. Of course, Edward had staged and taken them all the day before the wedding, but they didn't need to know that. I still wished that I could have told my colleagues the truth- that I was getting married- but it was too risky. Esme was still new, and all it would take was one well-wisher stopping by the house to meet the new Mrs. Cullen. Maybe we could get married again, in a couple of years…

"You, Mrs. Cullen, are a bad influence," I growled, tracing her ear. "I've never missed a shift in my life without calling in. What if I get fired?"

She snorted a laugh into my shoulder, but then raised her head, looking around. "What are we doing in this room, anyway?" she asked loudly.

She was a sight. Her voice had a drunken pitch to it, her hair was going all sorts of ways, and her blouse was on inside out. We had been married for exactly three weeks, two days, six hours and thirty-nine minutes. How had I survived before marrying her, again?

"I believe we were looking for a book. _Gulliver's Travels_?"

She raked both her hands through her hair, her eyes roaming through the top row of the bookshelves. But I knew where every book was in this room, and I realized, hiding my smile, that the book in question was actually on the shelf right behind my head. Fourteenth from the left. I would reach behind my head at vampire speed, and present it to her without either of us getting up.

I raised my hand back toward the shelf, letting a mischievous smile grow on my lips as her sparkling eyes moved back to mine. But that was when it happened. A human would never have seen it, but I did. As my hand flew up beside my head to reach the book, Esme flinched, jerking her face away from me slightly. She had already recovered herself by the time I had the book in my hands, but it clattered uselessly to the floor.

It had been centuries since I had been truly warm- having no circulation does that to a man. But for the first time in my long life, I felt _cold_. I sat unmoving, frozen as she reached behind the chair to pick up the book and began flipping through it, looking a little too studious.

I had been a physician long enough to know what it was that I had just seen. When I finally found my voice, it sounded far away.

"Esme, you thought that I… you couldn't… surely you didn't think I was going to _hit_ you?"

Her eyes flew away from mine, just for a second, as she tensed again. "Of course not," she said quickly, forcing her eyes back up. "You just startled me."

I shook my head slowly, wishing that I could believe her. But I knew-I knew all too well- that people didn't usually flinch like that unless they had been abused before. I was suddenly aware of all the things I didn't know about my wife yet, and it made me feel sick. I immediately thought of her first husband, Charles Evenson. Esme had never told me much about him- in fact, she seemed to avoid the subject. I had always had the general impression that she had never been happy with him, but until this moment, I had never thought to press further.

We sat in frozen silence, the book forgotten on her lap. "Was it Charles?" I whispered. She nodded, her eyes closing. What was she remembering right now? Had I just made her discover new memories, painful ones? I wanted to tear off my right hand and burn it. I was suddenly aware of all the places my body was touching hers, and I was torn between the desire to hold her closer, and the need to move away, to give her space. My hands decided for me, and in an instant, she was crushed against my chest, crying as she dug her fingers into my shirt.

"I was going to tell you. I was going to tell you, eventually," she said between sobs. "I just wanted to forget him. I thought if I didn't ever say any of it out loud, that maybe some of the memories would go away. And we're been so happy, these last couple of months, I didn't want to ruin it. I'm sorry…"

"Sorry? Oh, Esme…" My arms turned to stone as I held her even tighter. How could anyone _hurt_ her? The very idea was beyond blasphemy. Esme was the most precious woman in the whole world! How could anyone even _conceive_ of hurting her? What kind of monster could…

For the first time, I suddenly wished that I knew what Charles looked like. I needed a face, something to picture to match the rage that was quickly building in my chest. Venom began to flow into my mouth. If I hadn't been holding her right now, I would have run out of the house right then. But she was still crying, and I was paralyzed, but for the rumbling snarl that I was desperately trying to keep silent. I had never felt this angry before. Ever.

She finally stopped, wiping her already-dry eyes out of habit. "I want to tell you now," she said flatly. "I want to tell you everything."

"Esme, don't, please," I begged, putting my fingers over her mouth. She was probably right- if she spoke any of it out loud, it would make the memories more real. If I could do anything to erase them, I would.

She pulled my hand away. "No, I need to tell you. I want you to know everything about… me. And once I say it all, tonight, I won't ever have to say any of it again." But then she looked at me in worry. "Unless _you_ don't want to hear it? I didn't think about that."

"No, you're right. I _do_ want to know everything." I had already changed my mind. Psychology was still a piecemeal, fledgling field- it could hardly be called a science yet- but some believed that it was healthy to talk about the trauma that one had endured, rather than keeping it buried. And I did need to know the details, so that I would never again make the horrible mistake I had just made with my hand. I began to wonder if I had missed other signs, before now. Every gesture, every word suddenly took on new meaning as my mind flew through everything Esme had said and done since I had changed her. I forced the thought away, bracing myself for what I was about to hear.

It took her a while to get started. Several times she opened her mouth, and instead of speaking, she would begin to cry again. I finally changed my mind back again, begging her not to tell me anything- I couldn't bear to see her pain stop and start like this. But she clenched her teeth, and took a deep breath, and began to talk, at human speed.

It took two hours.

For two awful, miserable, hellish hours, I listened, immobile and unbreathing, as Esme told me everything that Charles Evenson had ever done to her.

Her human memory was imperfect, of course. These were only the memories that she could recall. And it _still_ took two hours. Instead of going chronologically- her memory was too cloudy for that- she started at the top of her head, and went down to her feet, telling me each and every injury that he had inflicted. Every bruise, every cut, even the burns and the two broken bones- no, she remembered a third by the time she was done. She told me about all the times that she had to stay home, for days at a time, waiting for the injuries on her face and arms to heal. This got less, as the years went on, and Charles got better at knowing which parts of her body would be covered by her clothing. She had gone to her parents in the beginning, and told them- not everything, but enough that they should have done something.

They told her to go home to her husband. They told her that she keep quiet, and maybe try a little harder.

And then there were the times that he had taken her body without her consent. She didn't even try to guess at a number, because it was nearly every time. But despite my effort against it, my mind easily calculated a guess, considering how many years they had been together, minus his year and a half in the Great War, and considering what she had whispered about his appetite. I wished that I could bleach my mind of the number I came up with. It was somewhere in the neighborhood of seven hundred. He had raped her seven _hundred_ times.

And that was only the first of the two hours. The rest of the time, she told me everything that he had _said_ to her. Her human memory was painful clear on this count, as well as on the physical abuse. I had known, from my own experience, that the most vivid memories were the most likely to be kept. How I desperately wished that it wasn't true, right now. I just sat, dumbfounded, as she repeated the vile lies that he had fed her. How stupid she was, how ugly. How incompetent, how useless, how disappointing. How he had been glad, in his years away, to get away from her, and to have the chance to be with some _real_ women, who knew what they were doing. How he hoped they would never have a child, because she would probably be a lousy mother, anyway.

I couldn't stand to hear any more after that. She seemed to be done, anyway- as soon as the word "mother" crossed her lips she fell silent, staring at her hands. I gently kissed her on the forehead and we eased out of the chair together, into standing. I ran my fingers gently through her hair, promising her that everything that Charles had ever told her about herself was a lie, and that I would spend the rest of eternity making sure that she believed me.

She nodded, and I held her in silence for a while longer. When she finally drew a deep, cleansing breath, I drew back enough to look in her eyes.

"Esme, love, I'm going to ask you something. You might not know the answer, but be honest with me, if you do?"

"Anything," she said tiredly.

I kissed her forehead again, speaking as calmly as I could. "Where is Charles now?"

She frowned. "I don't know. Why?"

"I mean, the last you knew, was he still living in Columbus? I'm just curious."

"I guess so. I mean, I didn't really try to… what?"

Now that I had a destination, I couldn't stand to wait any longer. I would try to find Edward in the woods, and send him back to the house to stay with her. But there was no doubt about it. If I could find him, Charles Evenson was going to die, and he was going to die tonight. I didn't even feel angry anymore. I was way, _way_ past that.

I kissed her on her forehead a third time, giving her a serene smile. "I'm going out for a bit, love. I'll send Edward back in to stay with you." I was already on the stairs. I knew it was terribly wrong to leave her like this, but I was afraid. I was afraid that if I waited another minute, I was going to lose control, right here in the house. And then she would be afraid of _me._

Esme's steps echoed right behind mine. "You're leaving, right now?" she asked incredulously. "But we just-"

"I'm sorry," I choked out as I threw open the door. I couldn't look back at her, or she would know. But I was already losing control, apparently. The knob broke off in my hand, and the door shattered into splinters as it hit the wall.

Esme followed me out. "You're going to kill him," she observed in a trembling voice. "You can't. Carlisle, you _can't_! Edward! _Edward_!" She screamed for our son as she latched onto my arm, pulling me back. She was strong, but she wasn't brand new anymore. I peeled her hands away as gently as I could.

"I'll be back soon," I promised her through my teeth. My vision was tainted with red as the rage burned through me. Esme was crying again, shaking her head and grabbing for my arm. I started backing away from her, toward the woods. I knew that I was being awful, that of all the times she might need me, this was the one- but I couldn't stay. I had to go kill him, more than I had ever had to do _anything_ before. I had to hear him apart with my own hands. I turned to run, but there was a white streak in the forest ahead of me and Edward appeared in my face, blocking my path and looking between the two of us in a panic.

"Stop him," Esme pleadd, trying to drag me back toward the house. "Help me stop him, Edward! He can't do this." Edward laid his hand on my arm, but he looked undecided as he stared at Esme, listening intently to her thoughts.

"You knew," I accused coldly, shrugging his hand off. I was losing my calm by the second now, and Edward's eyes grew wide as a small portion of my uncharacteristic rage redirected towards him. "You had to have known! You knew and you didn't _tell_ _me_!" I tried to dart around him, but he saw my thought and blocked me again, using his full strength this time to push against me.

I knew that it was wrong to do, but I did it anyway. I opened my mind to Edward, and let him see just a fraction of the things that Esme had told me. He frowned, but he didn't look surprised. Yes, he had known. He had known, this whole time! He let go of me and raised his hands defensively, stammering his apology as my teeth ground together in fury.

"I asked him not to," Esme said quickly, as I struggled to get past him again. "It's not his fault! Don't hurt him, please!"

_That_ stopped me. My anger sank down a notch as I forced myself to turn to her. She flinched again, seeing my face. "_Hurt_ him?" I whispered. "Like Charles, you mean? No, Esme. I don't hurt those I love. I am not like that… that… Edward, stand aside. I need you to stay with her…"

My voice trailed off as I started to run. I couldn't stay here another second. If I did, I really _was_ going to hurt Edward, if he didn't get out of my way. But he wasn't running to follow me- did I have his blessing, then? Or was he refusing to leave Esme alone?

"I don't _want_ you to do it! _Carlisle_!" Esme screamed from behind me. I stopped on a dime, breathing heavily and staring ahead, but unable to take another step. I felt torn in half between the momentary need for violence and the deeper need to be what Esme wanted me to be... what she needed me to be. I finally found the strength to turn around and go back to where my wife and son were waiting on the porch. Edward drew aside, giving me a straight path to Esme. She threw her arms around me, locking her fingers behind my back.

"Thank you," she sighed.

"Esme," I moaned into her hair. "Why on earth are you protecting him?"

Edward awkwardly cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his head as he backed away. "Think I'll… go hunting again," he mumbled. Then he met my eyes. "But I won't be far," he promised, the warning obvious in his tone.

Ah. He _had_ sided with her, then.

"I meant what I said before," Esme sighed, pulling me back around to face her. "I want to forget him. And I really haven't thought of him, very often, in this new life. Honestly. If you do this, it's just going to make it worse. For _me_."

I sighed in defeat, unable to break away from her. As badly as I needed to kill Charles, I needed Esme's happiness more. If there was even a possibility that I could make it worse, then I really _couldn't_ do it.

"But it's more than that," she continued, reaching up to touch my cheek. "You were right when you said you aren't like Charles. You're the _opposite_ of him, Carlisle. In every way. And that's why I can't let you do this."

"Esme," I sighed. "I'm a vampire, and you're my wife… my mate. I have every right to avenge the despicable things he did to you. I _need_ to." _If you will just let me!_

"You may be right," she said sadly. "But you still shouldn't do it. You're more human than you know, Carlisle Cullen. You're the most gentle, peaceable, kind man I've ever known, human or otherwise. If you do this, it's going to follow you for the rest of eternity. It's going to haunt you forever."

"I don't care," I said stubbornly. But she was right. Even now, as she calmed me down, I was quickly losing the desire to kill. Not that Charles didn't deserve to die- he did. But as my rage began to fade in the warmth of my wife's love, I was losing the desire to be the one that dealt him that death.

"Please, Carlisle, promise me you won't."

I took a deep breath, releasing my right to vengeance as I felt my anger dissolve into grief. "I promise."

She relaxed fully, easing her grip and laying her face on my shoulder. "He's already dead, anyway," she said in a faraway voice. "That was another life, and it's behind me now. _You_ are my future."

"And you are mine," I vowed. "But if you will allow me one thing?"

She waited, unwilling to promise until I spoke.

"I want to move farther away. Because he _isn't_ dead, Esme. And just the thought of being anywhere _near_ him, even this close…"

She smiled. "I'd like that. Yes."

I reached behind my back and gently untangled her arms. "Will you give me a moment? I need to apologize to Edward. Don't go anywhere, all right?"

Her eyes sparkled. "Never."

.

.

.

I found Edward a mile into the woods, waiting for me. He was lounging up in a tree, his legs dangling as he tossed a pine cone to himself over and over. When I was close enough, he tossed it down to me, and I caught it, examining every detail of the pine cone as I worked up the courage to apologize.

"I wanted to tell you," he said, before I could say it. "I knew on the very first day, after she woke up. I mean, I never saw much… she really doesn't think about him, hardly ever. But she didn't want me to say anything, and I figured it should be her choice."

"And you were right," I replied, tossing the pine cone back up to him. He caught it and rolled off the branch, landing on his feet in front of me. "I'm sorry about earlier. You did the right thing."

"So… you're not going, then?" he asked.

"No. And I never will, unless she changes her mind. I gave her my word."

Edward considered this for a few moments. "Okay… but… he's still alive."

I turned away, fighting against the rage that was rising in my throat again. In a blink, I lashed out at a boulder than was standing nearby, sending the fragments flying in five different directions. Edward raised his eyebrows, but didn't speak.

"Yes," I ground out in defeat. "He's still alive."

"So, what do we do?"

"Do? We're leaving. We're moving to Montana, next week. I want to get her farther away from him."

Edward nodded slowly. He seemed to be chewing on something in his mind, but I didn't have the energy to get into it, whatever it was.

"How is she? I mean, how is she _really_?" When he didn't answer right away, I began to panic again, and I grabbed his arm. "Edward, tell me! I have to know!"

He shrugged away, giving me a sidelong glance as he headed deeper into the woods. "Then _ask_ her," he said simply.

.

.

.

Five minutes later, Esme and I were back in the leather chair in my office, and I was begging for her forgiveness. Now that my rage had cooled, I was horrified at what I had almost done... what I had almost allowed that despicable man to turn me into. I was even more appalled at how I had been ready to leave Esme alone, moments after she had poured out her heart and her deepest secrets to me.

She finally laughed at me, telling me to stop. I just closed my eyes and laid my forehead on hers, letting the beautiful sound wash over me. "How, Esme? How can you love me after all that?"

"I said stop," she growled playfully. "I wasn't even mad at you."

"No," I said, opening my eyes. "I mean, how you can you love… at all? After _him_? How can you even stand to have me touch you?" I reached up, laying my fingers on the left side her face. How could she even stand _this_, when I knew now how often he had struck her, right where I was touching? But she leaned into my touch, turning into my hand and burying a kiss on my palm.

"Because that was another life," she said, repeating the kiss several times. "Besides, I never loved him. And I loved you before I even met him, remember?"

"I remember."

She took my hand away, staring down at it for a while. "I suppose this- being married again- might be more difficult if I was still human. I'm not. But this was what I wanted all along, Carlisle- you. I hardly ever think about Charles when we're together, because being with you doesn't remind me of him, at all. You're not even the same species as him- and I'm referring to _his_ inhumanity, not yours."

I lifted my hand back up and began combing through her hair, memorizing every feature anew. I could easily continue in my anger and grief, seeing all the invisible scars on her body, and on her soul. I suppose another man might even view her as damaged goods. But my love for her was simply too strong for that. She was my whole world, and knowing that another man had had a destructive foray into that world was sobering, but not limiting. I could only see _Esme_, when I looked at her. If she could be with me, and forget the monster who had ruined her human life, how could I offer her any less?

I drew closer, so that our lips were almost touching. She closed the distance, and time faded away.


	3. 1920-42ish: Awakening

**I'm so excited about the 1950 story! Let's peek in and see what Alice has been up to all this time. A couple people requested that we see Alice's early visions, and so I started with that and just kept going. Thank you to abishop47 and EmeraldStar73, and anyone else who has given me some help with this one.**

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**APOV (visions in italics)**

My eyes jerked open, and I scrambled up onto all fours, looking around me in a panic. I was alone in a forest at night, but the darkness seemed all wrong- everything was so clear and light. But why shouldn't it be? I thought about climbing a nearby tree to get a better look. Before I had completed the thought, I was already climbing hand over hand, effortlessly reaching the top.

Nothing- just more forest. And then pain, in my throat. My hand flew up to meet the aching-thirst? I wanted a drink, I _needed_ a drink. Of what? I found my nostrils flaring and my breath pulling deeply at the night air. Off to the right, something smelled sweet…

The next thing I knew, I was on my hands and knees, my mouth dripping blood onto the dead man that lay beneath me. I scrambled away from him, wiping my mouth in horror. I found a rain puddle and flung the water up onto my face to clean myself. When the water stilled, I stared at my reflection, seeing myself for the first time ever.

The first thing I noticed were my eyes, glowing red. They seemed wrong somehow, but I couldn't guess why. What color were they supposed to be? My hair was black, cut short and sticking out all kinds of ways. I reached up to smooth it, noticing with a gasp the shimmering moonlight that reflected off of my raised arm. I looked at my reflection again, memorizing my features. I was wearing a shapeless tunic with blue dots, and it smelled good and bad at the same time. I picked at it in disgust, but looking around the clearing, I found no belongings. Just the dead man, the puddle, and me. I crawled back to his side and closed his eyes, feeling guilty.

What was I? _Who_ was I? I tried to cry, but apparently I had even forgotten how to do that. I just sat there, shaking as I sat next to the dead man, and-

_A pale, handsome young man with honey-gold hair, glowing red eyes and a sad smile._

The image disappeared as quickly as it had come. Where had it come from? I still didn't know who, or _what_ I was, or who _he_ was, but I knew that he was mine. I knew that everything would be all right, if I could just find him. I closed my eyes, trying to find the picture again.

Instead, I found something else.

_A group of people, and I was standing in the middle, in a blue dress, a beautiful smile on my face as I leaned into the man with the honey-gold hair. __He was much taller than me, and he was bending down, planting a kiss on my hair. __There was another pair, pale like us. __The woman was stunningly beautiful, with long golden hair, and the man was huge, with curly black hair and a mischievous smile. __There was another young man standing alone, with untidy bronze hair and a gentle smile on his face as he looked at us. __Standing apart from all of us were another couple, slightly older but still beautiful, to the point of perfection.__The woman was watching us with a sweet, motherly smile. __The man had short blond hair, and his golden eyes held an ancient, patient wisdom. __He had his arm around the woman's shoulders. __It seemed that the two of them were watching over the rest of us, like proud parents. __Everyone was pale, beautiful, and shimmering._

We all looked so happy, like a family. Did I know these people? Were they killers like me? They shimmered like me, but they had golden eyes.

I looked around the rest of the picture, discovering that we _all_ had golden eyes, even myself and the man with the honey-gold hair. But my eyes were red right now, weren't they? And hadn't his eyes been red in the first picture? I scrunched my eyes shut, trying to find him again.

There he was- the same picture as before, and his eyes were definitely red. It was much clearer than the picture where we were with the other people, so it was my favorite. I sighed, memorizing every detail of his face. His hair came down, almost touching the collar of his worn blue shirt. His eyes weren't quite as bright-red as mine, but they were beautiful. His skin was like my own, but there was some kind of curved scar on the left side of his neck, just peeking out of his collar. I wondered what the sad smile was about. I wanted to reach out and poke it, or kiss it, and make it a happy one. I wanted to know what he smelled like. I wanted to bury my face in his chest, like I had been doing in the fuzzy group picture. I wanted him to tell me that everything was all right, and that I wasn't going crazy.

When I opened my eyes again, it was daylight and the dead man smelled bad. I got up and began to walk away.

_Myself, digging a hole and tossing the corpse inside._

I froze in mid-step, turning around to look suspiciously at the corpse, which was still lying innocently on the ground.

What was the _matter_ with me? I started walking away again, but I was halted by the same vision- not a frozen picture like the others, but I could see myself in motion, digging in the dirt and covering the man up. Growling aloud in frustration, I obeyed the vision, burying him deep underground. As soon as I had completed the task, I began to walk away a third time, wondering if I would be stopped again.

Nothing. It appeared that I had… fulfilled it?

They _were_ visions, then! Visions of the future. This was bizarre, but it gave me hope. What if the vision of the man meant that I was supposed to go find him? And did the other, fuzzier picture mean that we would be happy, part of what looked like a family? I had memorized every detail of both pictures by now, right down to the "Welcome to Texas" sign that was hovering above his head in the red-eyed picture, far off in the background. I decided to go to Texas, and-

I lost him! The second I made the decision, the picture slipped away into nothingness, and I panicked. Wasn't I supposed to do what the vision said? I reversed my decision, in a desperate attempt to get him back.

There he was. I almost wept with relief, but I knew in that moment that I couldn't go to him- he had to come to me. How long would I have to wait? I sat back down on the damp earth, watching the horizon eagerly. I sat, and waited.

And waited.

The sun rose and fell. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore- my throat just hurt too much. I got up and started to run blindly, following my nose until I found myself crouched over another dead man. This time there was a woman as well, both their throats torn to match. All I knew was, _my_ throat felt better. I took the clothes off the woman and put them on myself, giving her my discarded gown before I buried both of them.

I had killed three people now.

What _was_ I?

My only consolation was that my mind- at least that shimmery, illusive part of my mind- still held the picture of the man with the honey-blond hair, and the picture of us with a family. Other visions came and went, but those two were the most important. As long as I could keep those two pictures alive, everything was tolerable. Not all right, just tolerable. My throat hurt a lot, and I hated killing people to make it feel better. It felt wrong, but I had to do it. What else was there to do?

One time, I was so thirsty and angry that I started running toward a city, its lights and noise calling to me with the promise of relief. I was going to kill everyone I could find, and my throat would _finally_ stop hurting. But then _he_ slipped away- everything slipped away, except a black cloak fluttering the breeze, and then everything faded to black.

I turned around, running in the opposite direction, heaving a relieved sigh when everything reappeared. Apparently I wasn't supposed to be in cities. I knew that I would, someday: I had seen it. But I wasn't ready, for some reason.

The pictures kept me sane throughout the next few weeks. Other visions plagued me day and night. Sometimes I saw myself doing things two seconds before I did them, but sometimes they were of things that made no sense at all. If it wasn't for the pictures of the man and the family, I would have completely lost my mind.

The worst was when I saw myself kill people ahead of time. There was no point in trying to avoid the fulfillment of these visions- I had to feed, and often. I had a vision of myself wandering up into the mountains, and I obeyed this one eagerly, hoping that the killing could stop. But the visions only led me to a campground, and I killed again.

It had been three weeks now, and I finally noticed that I wasn't sleeping. Had I ever slept before? I must have, if it struck me as odd, that I wasn't doing it. I was definitely bored, though. I entertained myself by rooting through the camper that had belonged to my latest meal. He had been a packrat, fortunately. I pored over maps, tore through novels, and slowly, piece by piece, assembled the world around me into some kind of order.

I read about vampires, and decided that this was what I was, though not everything matched up. I was shocked to discover, in one of the books that I found, that the sunlight was supposed to burn me. I was supposed to have fangs, and I was supposed to sleep during the day, in a coffin. I was apparently a poor excuse for a vampire.

I knew that the man in my visions- for I had seven different pictures of him, now- was a vampire as well, because his eyes and his pallor matched my own. This didn't quite match up with the eye color in the group picture, but I would figure that out later. Where _was_ he, and what was taking him so long? I also knew now that the visions with sound and motion were the ones that were about to come true. Over time, I learned to call them up at will, those five-second-ahead ones. I waited patiently for the honey-blond man to be in a moving vision, but it wasn't happening. They were always still pictures.

I followed my visions around the country- it was called the United States, I learned later- and waited for him to find me.

And waited.

One day, I was lounging up in a tree with my eyes closed, playing with my visions to see if I was going to do anything interesting that day, when I got what I had been waiting for- a vision of _him_, complete with motion and sound. I jerked into sitting, enjoying the scene as it unfolded. I was disappointed to see that I wasn't in it, but I drank it up nonetheless.

_He was standing alone on the edge of a cliff, staring out at nothing. __Another male vampire was standing a few feet away from him, frowning in disapproval._

_"Come on, Jasper. It's time to clean up."_

I gasped aloud. Jasper! I spoke the word aloud, savoring it on my lips and smiling at the sound. It was the first time I had ever spoken aloud, and I liked that his name was the first thing I had ever said. My voice was beautiful, a silver tinkling of bells, and his name on my voice was like a song. Jasper. I closed my eyes again, waiting to see what would happen next.

_Jasper turned to the other vampire, and nodded stiffly. The two walked away from the edge of the cliff, down towards a small gathering of vampires. As Jasper and his companion neared the group, everyone fell silent, waiting for something. Jasper raised his hand, pointing to one of the males. The male followed Jasper and the other one away from the others, asking what his assignment was. The other vampire moved, so that the male was between himself and Jasper. Jasper nodded slightly, and in a blur, his companion grabbed the male's shoulders while Jasper ripped his head off._

I gasped aloud, losing the vision completely. What was he _doing? _I had to know. I stared into space, willing the vision to continue.

_Jasper and his companion were standing side by side, staring into a fire. Purple smoke was filling the air around them, and Jasper turned away, leaving his companion behind. He returned to the edge of the cliff, staring at nothing again. He looked over his shoulder, and then started staring out again. After a moment, he sank down to sit on the ground, burying his fingers in his hair and trembling. After a while, he lowered his hands and stared at them, a look of hatred on his face. He rose into standing, his hands clenched into fists, and walked away from the cliff._

I lost him again after that.

What kind of a man _was_ my Jasper? I felt even more drawn to him than before, and it wasn't just because I knew his name. It was because I wanted to save him. I wanted to gather him up in my arms, and tell him that everything would be all right, that he would be happy someday. He hadn't wanted to kill the vampire- I could tell. From the numb, weary look in his eyes as he killed, it seemed that he did this sort of thing a lot. And from the moment of anguish that he had allowed himself on the cliff, I knew that he wished he _wasn't_ doing it.

It was a long time before I saw him again, but I waited anyway. I wandered, and learned, and killed.

And waited.

I was growing up. It had been a year now since I had awoken, and I could walk right into a city now without losing my future. I tried to pick people that deserved death, or were close to dying anyway- my visions helped with that- and when I wasn't hunting I was rooting through libraries, learning. Sometimes I broke into stores and replaced my battered clothing. It felt good to wear new things- it made me feel like one of the humans. According to the vampire stories I had read, I used to be one.

I hated killing, hated it more every time I did it. The more time I spent around humans, the more I was bombarded with their futures. If the person seemed happy, it was fun to poke around their future, see what they were going to do that day.

Sometimes I would see things that weren't so happy. Sometimes I looked at a person, and saw myself killing them. I would follow them and kill them, usually, because it seemed like I was supposed to. And at least I got new clothes, whenever I killed a woman that was the right size. But I still felt guilty, nonetheless.

One night I was burying a kill under a rockslide when a new vision surprised me. A still image. It was the slightly older man from the group picture, the one I had had in the very beginning. The one with the short blonde hair and the gentle golden eyes.

_It was night, and he was kneeling on the ground, his face pressed against the throat of a huge deer. __The deer was sprawled under him at an unnatural angle. __Dead?_

Was he _feeding_ from the deer? What an odd thing to do! I decided to try it. I got up, running through the forest until I found a deer of my own. I walked up to it, wrinkling my nose. I grabbed its neck and wrenched. I brought its furry, tickly throat up to my mouth and bit, taking an experimental sip.

Ew!

I drank anyway, just to see if I could do it. It was _awful_, but I did it. Like the vision of the man... the father? When I was done, I felt… satisfied. Not in the way that I usually did, and my throat still had an echo of ache in it. But at least I hadn't poisoned myself. I buried the deer, just because I was in the habit anyway.

It rained the next morning, and I decided to use a rain puddle as a mirror, like I usually did when I combed through my hair with my fingers. I had hoped, in the beginning, that it would grow longer, but it never had. Still, there was no need to be disheveled. But this time, as I leaned over the puddle and began raking my fingers through the knots, I noticed a very slight change in the color of my eyes. They were still red, but just a bit lighter. They had been slowly losing their brilliance over my year-old life, but this was different. It was as if the red had been brushed with gold.

I scrunched my eyes shut, combing the world with the tendrils of my vision, searching for the man with the short blond hair. He was elusive, much harder to find than Jasper. But I worked at it furiously, my extra vision roaming over the miles until I found him. And my extra effort was rewarded: I jumped for joy as I saw him _moving_, breathing, speaking. This was happening today, somewhere in the world!

_"__Carlisle! __Who in the blazes-"_

I looked around the vision, finding the speaker.

_It was the young man who had been alone in the group picture, but his golden eyes were quickly fading to black as he shouted his question. __On the right side of the scene, he- Carlisle?- was there, running into the house with a woman in his arms. __She looked familiar- a lot like the woman in the group picture, the mother. __But she was human, and almost dead. __She was covered in dried blood, and his eyes, still golden, but faded half to black, were wide and frantic._

_"__It's Esme! __I can't… I'm sorry, Edward, we don't have time to talk about it!" __Carlisle's trembling hands fumbled with the buttons at the top of the woman's collar, and he leaned down, sinking his teeth right into her throat. __The younger man- Edward, now- stood frozen in shock, watching as Carlisle pulled away and gently bit the woman's wrists. __Carlisle collapsed to the floor, his golden eyes shot with just a hint of red, and Edward yelled at him again, just as the woman started to scream._

_"__What have you DONE?!"_

_Instead of answering, Carlisle crawled back to the woman's side, holding her hand and-_

I lost the vision after that. I sat staring at my reflection in the puddle as I processed what I had just learned. The group _were_ vampires, then- the eye color didn't mean they were a different species. I had also learned three of their names. But why hadn't the smell of the woman's blood made Carlisle's eyes turn completely black, like it had Edward's? And why did Carlisle bite the woman, if he wasn't going to feed on her? I knew she wouldn't die, because I still had her in the group picture. It was the same woman –Esme, he had called her. The one that belonged to him. Was he changing her into a vampire? It was nothing like the stories, but, then, neither were my teeth. And then there was the change in Carlisle's eye color, after biting her…

I leaned over the puddle again, staring at the subtle change in my own eyes, the exact opposite of what had just happened to Carlisle in the vision. I had taken in some animal blood, and he had taken in some human blood.

What if their golden eyes meant that they drank from animals all the time? Was that even possible? If I did that, would my eyes turn golden, too? I knew they would, someday, because I had seen it. I decided to try drinking animals all the time, and peeked into my own future, stretching out into the next few months. I saw several separate shots of myself with varying eye colors. In a couple of the pictures, it looked like I was feeding from animals.

It was worth a try. And wouldn't it be nice to stop killing people?

I waited three days, and tried again. This time I found a bear, and it tasted a little better. As soon as I was done, I ran to the nearest puddle and looked eagerly.

Even lighter! Still red, but a bit more gold in it this time. I doubted if a human would see the difference, but I could. I could do this!

Over the next several months, I practiced my new diet. Sometimes I messed up- some people just smelled too darn good. I didn't feel as guilty anymore, though. I was killing accidentally, and more often than I liked, but at least it wasn't on purpose.

But for the most part, I was able to stick to animals. Sometimes, if I focused hard, I could grab onto a vision that allowed me to peek in on Carlisle, Edward and Esme. I watched as Esme's eyes began to change, along with my own.

Now that I was drinking animals most of the time, I was able to be around humans more, and my throat didn't bother me so much, to smell them. I still had to be careful about them bleeding- I tried to avoid places with sharp objects- but it felt good to pretend to be a human sometimes, and it felt even better to be wearing something that I hadn't gotten off a corpse. I was able to occasionally buy new clothes, instead of just stealing them at night. Of course, the less people I killed, the less money I had, so I eventually had to go back to stealing. I didn't bother too often though; there was no one to care what I wore. But I sometimes sat in a busy department store, watching the human ladies and girls enjoy themselves as they shopped. I was able to do this now- expose myself in artificial light. My eyes were various colors, depending on that last time I messed up, but in general they were brownish yellow or dark-enough orange that no one noticed.

One night, something wonderful happened. I was sitting there, in the department store, envying the cheerful ladies as they bustled around the store, when a woman spoke loudly.

"Alice!"

My head jerked in her direction, like I had been called. I hadn't, of course; the woman's daughter came to her, and the woman scolded her for running off. But when she had called the girl's name, I had felt certain that she was calling _me_.

Was my name Alice?

It was as good a name as any! I supposed there was a whole human life that went with it, but the past wasn't my thing, it seemed. Oh, well.

_Alice and Jasper_, I said to myself. _Jasper and Alice._ Yes, it sounded perfect. Alice it was, then. I couldn't wait to tell him! Would he like my new name?

How long would I have to wait, to tell him?

I was getting better at telling how far off the visions were, from my current point in time. It wasn't an exact science, but I was working on it. Grainy pictures were the furthest off- I still had no idea how long it would be until all of us were together. Blurry pictures were the most uncertain. The moving, audible ones were very close, usually two days or less. So even though I was separated from those I loved- for I loved them all, now- I at least had the comfort of knowing that I was watching them in real time. There was still no sign of the other couple, in the motion pictures. I didn't even know their names. But I peeked often enough to know that Carlisle and Esme were in love, and I got to watch their entire wedding, on some island. Why didn't Edward have anyone? I tried to peek ahead, but his future was a mess. I got a flash of red eyes, and I stopped looking.

On July 19, 1922, I had the best vision yet. It was a still shot, and it almost as grainy as the group picture, which meant it wasn't happening soon.

_I was sitting alone, in a diner, my golden eyes sparkling with excitement. __My toes were balanced on the floor, like I was tapping them impatiently. __I was sitting beside a window, and the sky was gray. __A thousand raindrops were suspended in the air outside. __But I wasn't looking out the window- I was looking at the door._

I looked over to the leftmost end of the vision, to see what I was so excited about.

_The door to the diner was just opening, and a pale, masculine hand was gripping the handle. __A little higher, peeking out behind the edge of the door was a lock of honey-gold hair. __The other pale hand was raised, brushing raindrops off a man's overcoat, and-_

My eyes popped open and I lost the vision, shrieking with excitement. I knew, I just _knew_, that it was him! I was seeing the day that we were going to meet! When was it!?

I knew, from the quality of the picture, that it was not anytime soon. Nor was the group picture, where Jasper's eyes were smiling and golden. But I knew that both would come.

The years came and went. I still got flashes of Jasper, and they scared me. Sometimes I watched him in battle, holding my breath as his future flickered in and out during those moments. A few times, I thought I had lost him for good. But he would always slip away from his enemy, and kill ruthlessly.

He had no choice. I watched the scars accumulate, resolving to kiss each and every one as soon as I got the chance. I was going to save him. When?

I also watched the Cullen family - I had finally gotten the surname. I watched as Edward went away, drinking his eyes red. I watched when he came back in shame, Carlisle and Esme holding him as he grieved the loss of his innocence. I watched Rosalie join the family, and Emmett. I saw their wedding, and I saw other vampires with golden eyes dancing with my family. I saw them move a lot after that. There was some kind of glitch in late 1936, but everything turned out all right by the end. I watched in amusement as they traveled through the snow, through a tropical rain forest.

Through the world.

When was _I_ going to travel with them? I was getting really good with the animal diet now. Wasn't I ready _yet?_ It wasn't as if any of us were getting any older, but I hated to miss everything like this. When was Jasper going to find me, and when we were going to find _them?_

I waited some more.

Jasper's future suddenly got brighter in the early forties. I had missed most of what happened, but one night a vision came to be unbidden- the important ones usually did this. I paid close attention, because I felt this was big.

_Jasper and his companion- the one who had always helped with the executions- were standing on the edge of another cliff. The shapes on the horizon were different this time. His companion looked peaceful, but Jasper still looked troubled. Not haunted, so much as before, but troubled._

_"__What's it going to take, Jasper?"_

_Jasper spoke, that funny twang coloring his musical voice. "I'm sorry. I know it makes it harder for you and Charlotte. It's just…"_

_"__What? __You don't want to go BACK to her, do you?"_

_"__Of course not. __This is a hundred times better. __But I still feel it, every time I kill. __No matter how fast I attack, there's always that split second where their fear hits me. __I can't stand it."_

_The other vampire sighed, and Jasper looked guilty.__ "__Sorry…"_

_"__Stop saying that! __You can't help it. "__There was a pause, and Jasper's companion relaxed visibly.__ "__Thanks."_

_Jasper looked back at the horizon, the muscles in his jaw clenching in determination.__ "__I think I'm going to go off on my own for a while."_

_The other one inhaled deeply, shaking his head in protest._

_Jasper smiled sadly.__ "__Don't bother, Peter. __You know you'll both be happier without me."_

_"__It doesn't mean I want you to go."_

_"__I know. __But there's something else for me, somewhere. __I've got to go find it. __Tell Charlotte goodbye for me?"_

_Peter frowned again.__ "__You're leaving right NOW?"_

_Jasper shrugged. "Why not?"_

_Peter reached out, clasping Jasper's hand.__ "__We'll see you again, sometime? __We'll stay in the U.S., of course."_

_"__I hope so. __Take care of yourselves- stay to the North."_

_Peter dipped his head, staring into Jasper's eyes.__ "__Thank you. __For everything."_

_Jasper nodded and slipped away._

The vision ended, and I flopped back down on my back, staring up at the stars as I played it over and over in my head. I felt enormous relief as I unraveled the events that seemed to have taken place.

It was funny, in a way- at the same time as the humans around me were getting nervous about that little war in Europe, my Jasper had just escaped from war. He was free now, but he was still sad. And there was something about feeling other people's feelings. He was striking out on his own, leaving two or more friends behind to find… something.

Me?

It was easier after that, to get a hold of Jasper in the visions. They were mostly still pictures, but occasionally I was rewarded with a moving, breathing Jasper. I never heard his voice again, after that- he had no one to talk to. He spent his time wandering and hunting. He seemed to wait as long as he could- usually until his eyes turned black. And just like he had told Peter, he always killed as quickly as he could, but sometimes it wasn't quick enough. Sometimes, after feeding, he would curl up on the ground, trembling and trying to pull his hair out. It was even harder to watch, now that I knew there was a better way. I hardly ever had human blood in me now. I felt calmer, and happier, and _better_. I wanted him to have those things, too. He did seem more at peace, when he wasn't hunting, but I knew he would never really be happy until he found me.

I had to comfort him, and teach him about the animal diet- I knew it would make him feel better. Why didn't he hurry up and find me? I tried again and again to go to him, whenever I caught a road sign in the visions, but I lost him each time, and had to turn back.

I waited some more.

And in the meantime, I watched my family, and my beloved Jasper, from afar.


	4. 1927: Daydream

****Note to new readers: If you've recently read the 1927 story, you may have already seen this. After writing it as an outtake, I liked it so much that I went back and made it the new first half of the third chapter. Sorry for any confusion.****

**This takes place during Edward's "slippery slope" period in the 1927 story- let's say between chapters 2 and 3. If you remember, Margaret is not a singer for Edward but she does smell unusually good. This was the part in the story where the blood-scent addiction was just starting to make things difficult, but he still didn't realize how close he was to losing it. Enjoy the Bella foreshadowing! (or anti-shadowing, as the case may be) **

* * *

**EPOV**

I was slouching deeper and deeper in my chair, copying the boredom that my classmates were succumbing to in the second half of the Biology lecture. If I had been one of them, I probably would have been snoring. Really, hadn't we beaten mitosis to death by now?

Thankfully, I had the delectable Margaret Weiss right next to me, and I had long since left Biology behind, immersing myself in her scent and in the imaginary world in which it was permissible to lean over and sink my teeth into her-

"Mister Cullen!"

I looked up at the teacher, easily suppressing the growl that threatened to announce my displeasure at being interrupted. "Yes, Mrs. Wilson?" I asked sweetly.

The reprimand disappeared from her mind, to be replaced with an image of my face. There were dark circles under my eyes, and my eyes themselves were a little too close to black for such a public setting. I quickly moved my hand up to my stomach and rubbed it, confirming her unspoken fear that I wasn't feeling well.

Her mental voice quickly softened, as well as her spoken voice. "Oh, Edward, why didn't you say something? You look awful. Why don't you go down to see the Nurse?"

I nodded pathetically and rose from my seat, taking my books and the wooden hall pass being offered to me. I took one last deep breath of Margaret's scent, and headed for the door. But as I touched the doorknob, my instincts flared in protest, angry at being denied satisfaction yet again- and seventeen minutes early, to boot. I tried to advance my foot, but I knew that I was dangerously close to turning back toward my table and doing the unthinkable. _Just calm down, calm down…_

I stood still and closed my eyes, clenching and unclenching my fists as I reminded myself of all the reasons why I should leave the room. Carlisle's trust, Esme's love. The audience. My vow to maintain the diet and self-control exemplified by my creator. The humiliation of letting a seventeen-year-old human child ruin my perfect record, just because she smelled so good.

Once it was safe to walk again, I opened the door and stormed out, slamming it behind me at human speed. As soon as I was safely outside the classroom, I leaned back against the lockers, trying to decide what to do.

Nurse, nothing. I needed to get _out_ of here. I could feel my control slipping around Margaret, and I truly didn't understand it. I had just hunted this weekend, for crying out loud! But here I was again, having to leave school in the middle of the day to hunt. It was the right thing to do. Black really wasn't a normal eye color, and I loved my parents. I didn't want to ruin our life here. I should leave the building, head up into the Forest, and drink myself into tranquility.

But I didn't _want_ to leave. I wanted to go back in there, tell Mrs. Wilson that I felt much better, and get my seventeen minutes. Maybe if I waited a bit, my eyes would lighten up…

While I was debating my options, the classroom door opened beside me and _Margaret_ came out.

"Um… you didn't get very far." _Why did she have to pick me? __Couldn't one of the boys have walked him to the nurse? __This is awkward…_

She closed the door behind herself, fanning her scent towards me. I inhaled appreciatively and smiled, despite the tantalizing burn in my throat.

"Are you sick, as well?" I asked politely.

"No. Mrs. Wilson thought you looked a little faint as you were walking out, and wanted me to walk you to the nurse. Um, you're not going to throw up, are you?"

I looked past her down the hallway, and used her viewpoint to look behind me. There wasn't a teacher or student in sight. Margaret was alone, in the hallway. With _me_.

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "I don't need help."

"Oh. All right. Um, feel better." _Thank goodness. __I don't think he likes me very much- at least not lately. __And he's so creepy, anyway._ She turned to go back to class.

Silly girl! If only she knew how much I _liked_ her- though not in the way she wished I would. Margaret Weiss was just like every other girl in this school when it came to her fascination with me- she had given up by now, but despite my attempts to be unapproachable, and even my "creepiness" lately, I knew she would be wrapped around my little finger in a second, if I chose. It would be so ridiculously easy to get her alone…

But we were _already_ alone, I realized. Thought not for long- her hand was already reaching for the door, and then I wouldn't smell her again for three more days…

"Wait." The word came out of my mouth without my permission, and my hand grabbing her arm had _certainly_ not been an action approved by the saner half of my brain. What was I doing?

Margaret shivered and drew away from my touch. _Ugh! __He's so cold- he's sicker than I thought. __But wait, if he had a fever, shouldn't he be hot, instead?_

I jerked my hand away, her scent temporarily forgotten. It was time for some damage control; Margaret might have a boring mind, but she was no idiot.

"I mean, my stomach's fine. I just feel cold all over, and I've got a bad headache. I get them like this sometimes." _Now go back to class._

Margaret turned back toward me and I frowned as I saw her intention to check if I had a fever. Not good. But if I jerked away again, it might make her more suspicious. I forced myself to stand still while she laid her hand on my forehead, frowning in a motherly way at the coldness. _My goodness! __He's so cold- no wonder he's feeling faint. __Why can't men ever admit when they're sick?_

"I'm taking you to the nurse," she said firmly. "Come on."

"But-"

"Edward Cullen! I'm going with you, whether you like it or not. You're practically falling over as it is."

I had forgotten that I had been leaning my head against the wall when she came in. No, Margaret! Go back to class. This is a bad idea. No!

"If you like," I said smoothly. And why not? Smelling her for an extra minute was just too good to pass up, and it wasn't like I was going to _do_ anything. She started down the hallway, and I pulled myself away from the wall obediently.

We walked in silence, her scent surrounding us like a cloud. I stared straight ahead as we walked, and I distracted myself by counting how many steps were left until the Nurse's office. Just 850 more steps, and she would be safe. No problem.

Her mind wandered, as well. She was thinking about the last time she had gone to the Nurse, a couple of weeks ago. She had been hurrying to get her books out of her locker so that she wouldn't be late to class, and her hand slipped against the latch-

As I saw the blood in her memory, the world turned upside down, and my feet tangled together in confusion as my body leapt away from her at the same time as it leapt toward her. Venom flooded my mouth and as she reached over to steady me, I shook my head frantically, clenching my teeth shut.

"For goodness' sakes, Edward! Let me help you, or you're going to pass out!" She reached for me again, and I backed fully away from her, slamming myself into the lockers behind me. She put her hands on her hips, taking another step toward me. "What's the _matter_ with you?"

I just shook my head again, swallowing the venom as quickly as I could, holding my hand up in protest. As Margaret pictured me fainting, her heart began to beat faster in her worry, sending her scent toward me in urgent waves.

"I'm sorry," I finally choked out. "It's just… just…" _It's just that I really want to kill you right now. __Can't you understand that?!_

"Just what?" she snapped. "Are you that afraid to let people help you?"

"I don't want _you_ to help me," I said through my teeth. I could see my haunted expression through her eyes- why didn't she _run_? "Margaret, please understand," I begged, softening my voice a bit. "I know you're trying to help, but it's making it worse. Just go back to class, _please_."

Margaret's eyes finally widened in understanding, and she shivered. Finally, a reasonable response! If she would just get out of my sight, I could make my escape. But her thoughts weren't going the way I wanted them to. She had decided that my skittishness and refusal to show weakness were signs that I was, in fact, in love with her. Like she had hoped all along.

Oh, for the love of… I opened my mouth to order her away again, but she suddenly blushed in embarrassment, the blood rising to fill her cheeks in invitation, and her pulse picked up again as she took a tentative step towards me. _I knew it! __All those times I caught him looking at me…_

I blinked, trying to clear my vision of the haze of her scent, and trying to clear my mind of the echoing thud of her heartbeat. I knew this was her last chance, that I should call for help- if I could get a teacher out here, she might still survive this. I might not break my vow, and my family's trust in me. But my throat was in cinders, the flames devouring the sound of my voice as I tried to save her life. I felt the lockers pull gently away from my back, and I was carried forward until my hands were on the sides of her face. I could feel the difference in temperature under the fingers that were touching her blush. The blood was so close…

"Edward," she whispered. _Kiss me._

I didn't have to be told twice. My lips met hers, and she shivered at the unexpected cold as I felt her hands climb up my back. I kissed her again, on her chin and then under her chin, sliding my hands down to her shoulders. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, hoping I would kiss her throat next.

Stupid, _stupid_ girl.

Her carotid artery was pounding out a rhythm that had been written just for me- I could tell. I bent down until my nose was just touching the skin over the artery, and one final thought raced through my mind as my sanity evaporated.

_I'm sorry._

I opened my jaws and bit, my mouth filling with the most amazing, most spectacular deliciousness in the whole world. She finally began to struggle, and I gripped her shoulders so hard that her bones began to snap. I kept drinking, and the whole world faded away behind me as I-

"Mister CULLEN!"

A ruler slammed on my table, and my eyes jerked open to see Mrs. Wilson leaning over me with her hands on her hips. _Honestly! __Sleeping right in the front row!_

I spun halfway around, to find Margaret sitting, alive and well, at my left side. She wasn't even looking at me- she was still flinching at the ruler which had just landed on the table we shared.

She was alive. I hadn't killed her!

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," I murmured. Mrs. Wilson huffed and slapped the ruler in her palm as she returned to the chalkboard.

When her back was turned, Margaret leaned toward me. "All you all right?" she whispered. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine! Just stay away from me!" I hissed, scooting my chair as far to the right as I could. Mrs. Wilson spun around again, watching as Margaret turned her face away toward the window, determined not to let me see her tears. After giving me a disapproving glare, she turned back to her lesson again.

_That's the last straw! __I'm going to the principal on my lunch break, and I don't care what he says. __Those two need a break from each other. __We can always move an extra desk in here for seventh period._

That was it, then. Margaret was really being taken out the class, and it was because of me. I wasn't angry this time, surprisingly. I was relieved, so relieved, because I really needed to stop doing this. There was nothing wrong with enjoying the scents around me, but this was too much. I couldn't let my daydreams get mixed up with reality like this, or I really _was_ going to make a mistake.

Still, the daydream had been quite innocent. Margaret was the one who came out of class looking for me. She was the one who had insisted on being alone in the hallway together. She was the one who had made the fatal error of assaulting me with her scent and the memory of bleeding. And she was the one who had stood there like a fool, practically begging me to kill her. I could just as easily have dreamt up a scenario in which I lured her away from the school, and killed her on purpose. But I hadn't. I had been blameless in this one. It was an accident.

And accidents were allowed.

But it was good that Margaret was being taken away from me- I knew that. There was no point in courting disaster, even if that disaster would finally give answer to the question I had secretly been brooding over:

What _did_ human blood taste like?

I had had one glimpse before- when Carlisle had bitten Esme. I had been standing right beside him, and I had already been digging around in his mind to find out why on earth he had brought a bleeding, dying woman to _our_ house, of all places. But when he leaned down to her throat, and I realized what he was about to do, I had jumped out of his mind instinctively, my telepathic gift tensing itself from the shock.

But for a fraction of a second, before I had fully steeled myself against it, I had experienced a faint echo of the taste that Carlisle's brain was processing. And throughout that next evening, as Esme lay screaming in pain, my father's mind had drifted back seven times to the memory of the taste- and then quickly discarded the thought, for his sake as well as my own. And even that first time had been so brief, and already so muted that I didn't get much. The moment itself had been so horrifying that I hadn't even thought about what I was denying myself. I had been intensely curious later on, but I knew that Carlisle would have disapproved of my asking him to kindly give me a mental replay of the taste of his beloved Esme's blood.

And so in my daydream, as in all the others, I had been obliged to make it up. And this case, since Margaret was the star of my imagination, I had done my very best- I had just imagined the taste of mountain lion blood, but mingled with that snatch I had gotten from Carlisle's mind six years ago. I didn't know how accurate my guess was. And I didn't want to know.

Really, I didn't.

Did I?


	5. 1948: Finally!

**Thank you all again for the lovely reviews! I have to admit, I was kind of hoping to fool everyone for a minute with the daydream :) I appreciate all the outtake requests, and I hope to get to them all eventually. For now, though, we're going to return to the current day with Alice and Jasper, in preparation for their "story" merging with the 1950 one. This will be the last Alice one, followed by a 1948 Jasper POV, and a 1950 Jasper POV. After that I'll return to doing random outtakes again.**

* * *

**Alice POV (visions in italics)**

I was lying on my stomach in the dirt, my face ten inches from an anthill. It had taken me most of the day to get this close; even the stupid ants could sense that I was dangerous. So I had slowly inched closer and closer, until I was here, staring lifelessly at the tiny soldiers as they labored.

What else was there to do, anyway?

It was getting difficult to find Jasper, lately. It seemed that he was as listless as I was, letting the wind blow him where it would. The last highway sign I had seen near him had read " Downtown Detroit, 5 mi." But that had been months ago.

I couldn't peek in on Carlisle- he was probably at the hospital, and he had a nasty habit of working in the Emergency Room. _That_ wasn't going to help my cravings for human blood. I hadn't made a mistake in eight years now, but I didn't need to give myself a sore throat for no reason.

Edward wasn't much better. He had just begun medical school, and was spending most of his days cutting up dead humans with his classmates, or staring at textbooks. Why he felt the need to do these things, I didn't understand. I was just lucky that my visions didn't come with smell. Ugh!

Esme was just plain boring, as usual- nothing but housecleaning, and repairing cabinets, and digging in the dirt.

And Rosalie and Emmett- they were more interesting, since they lived off on their own now and Emmett had a regular job. I liked watching Rosalie walk around town, shopping and seeing what there was to see. But the work day was over now, and they always spent their free time in a honeymoon free-for-all. I didn't want to see _that_. Judging by their cloudy futures, they had decided to return back to family… eventually. I wish they would hurry it up, though. Watching my siblings annoy each other was one of my favorite pastimes. Edward had been boring as an only child, and now he was boring again.

I had, sometimes, thought about going to find the Cullens on my own, while I waited for Jasper. But the family portrait always got fuzzier with those decisions, and sometimes Jasper and I were standing further apart in the picture. As lonely as I was, that wasn't worth it. Besides, I liked the idea of being alone with Jasper for a little while in the beginning.

So, I had nothing to do, except watch.

And wait.

I had really been spoiled, back in the early forties. My family had spent several years travelling the globe, and I had entertained myself by following them in my visions, seeing the world and meeting other vampires through them. But now their lives were dull again, and here _I_ was, staring at an anthill while I waited. I sighed for the seven hundredth time today, letting the ants hypnotize me as they marched.

The colony were working with a frenzied energy, carrying what morsels they could find back to their larders and storing them against the approaching winter. Their march was a web of black polka-dotted lines weaving up the hillside, converging on the door to their underground world. Earlier this morning, I had chosen a particularly intelligent-looking ant and named him Jasper, making up stories in which he was the general of the Ant Army.

Ant-Jasper was a compassionate fellow. He worked hard, never hesitating to help with one of his recruits needed help carrying a heavy leaf, or crumb, or whatever. He allowed the enlisted men frequent water breaks downstairs in the mess hall. He had a little ant-wife named Alice, and they shared an apartment down on the third level…

But then a crow had swooped down, gobbling up Ant-Jasper, and now I was just watching ants again. The wind swirled around me, blowing my bangs into my eyes. Not wanting to move and alert the ants to my position, I blew a puff of air upwards, trying to dislodge the two hundred and seven blacks hairs that were annoying me. I blew thirty times, without success. I peeked ahead in my own future to see if the wind was going to come help me anytime soon. But apparently I was going to lie here with my hair in my eyes for the next seven hours unless I altered my course.

This was _pathetic_. Here I was, one of the most terrifying creatures in the world, using my supernatural powers to decide whether or not to scare a bunch of insects in order to fix my hair. What would Emmett say?

I gave up, raising my hand to move my hair and sending the ants scurrying away as if a tornado had hit them. I rolled over onto my back, staring up at the sky and tapping my fingers on the ground. Counting the number of birds overhead. Finding pictures in the clouds.

Still waiting…

I had finally found the diner last year. The picture had cleaned up enough that I could see the Pennsylvania license plates parked outside the diner window, and I had also caught a glimpse of a store name across the street. I had spent months combing Pennsylvania, both with my visions and with my own eyes. I had finally found it, in a little corner of Philadelphia. I ran inside, sitting in "my booth" for a while. It was strange to feel so at home in a place I had never visited before, but I knew every inch of this diner; well, at least the parts that were visible in the visions.

I had then run back out and bought a calendar, giving it as a gift to the owner and suggested that it might look nice on the wall behind my booth. If my plan worked, then the vision would change and I would be able to figure out the exact month. Unfortunately, he didn't like my calendar idea. I decided to hang it up myself, but that made the diner picture fuzzier. Maybe the owner didn't like pushy calendar-giving customers.

Oh well, I had to try. What good were visions if you couldn't cheat sometimes?

Anyway, I had stayed in Pennsylvania ever since. When the fateful day arrived in which the diner picture became a diner _movie_, I would know that I had a maximum of three days to get there. Of course, the vision wouldn't work if getting there wasn't possible, but sometimes these destiny-based visions could be a little tricky. And even though Jasper probably wasn't anywhere near Pennsylvania right now, I liked the idea of being near where he was _going_ to be. And that was why I was here in the Alleghenies, bored to death while I waited. The diner picture got clearer every day, and the closer I got, the more bored I got.

I was _so_ bored today, that I might as well check it to see if the diner's owner had suddenly developed a fondness for calendars. I closed my eyes, digging half-heartedly into the mental storehouse of my visions for the diner picture…

_Same as always. __I was sitting in the booth, my eyes sparkling with excitement. __The raindrops were outside the window, falling like a sheet of…_

I shrieked in surprise, jumping up onto my feet. The raindrops were _falling_, were not frozen in midair! Did this mean what I thought it meant?! I tangled my fists in my hair, plunging back into the vision with everything I had.

_My feet were moving under the table, tapping the floor in an impatient staccato rhythm that matched the tapping of my fingers on a plate of coffeecake. __There was a creak and the tired jingle of a bell as the door opened._

_His right hand on the doorknob, and his left hand brushing the rain drops off of his overcoat. __The door swung open fully, and he walked in._

_HE WALKED IN!_

_I slipped out of the booth, containing my excitement as I danced toward him, and he froze, confusion and wariness clouding his handsome features._

_"__You've kept me waiting a long time," I said with a smile._

_He only hesitated for a second before bowing his head slightly.__ "__I'm sorry, ma'am," he drawled, beginning to return my smile as I drew another step closer. I held out my hand…_

My eyes popped open and I screamed at the top of my lungs, flipping myself into the air for a quadruple cartwheel. It was time, it was time, it was _time_! I landed in a crouch, poised like a sprinter as I officially made the decision: I was going to the diner, right now. I held my breath and checked the vision again.

Still there!

For the first time in my life, it was still there.

_I'm coming, Jasper! __It's time!_

I launched myself into the air again, and this time I hit the ground running.

.

.

.

I was in the diner the next morning as soon as it opened, stationed in my booth and tapping my feet as I watched the clouds. There was no clock anywhere in the diner- apparently this guy hated décor of every kind- so I had to predict the weather the old fashioned way. I could see storm clouds off in the distance, maybe two hours off. Was it The Storm? Or would I be sitting here for two days, tapping my feet and hiding coffeecake in the purse I had stolen last night?

I had broken into a boutique outside of Harrisburg, and stood staring at the dresses for most of the night. I had never actually _shopped_ before. In the beginning, when I was too wild to get near any real towns, I was limited to the dresses that came off the women I killed- and they were almost always too big. Later on, when I was under control enough to get into a store, I always had the cash, off my victims. But even then, I had to keep my red eyes down; get in, grab something from the petite section, get out. And when I had started hunting animals, I had run out of money fast. And I hated to steal, so I waited as long as possible to replace my clothing. I still liked to sit in department stores occasionally, watching the mothers and daughters go about their merry business, but it was a life that wasn't for me. Not yet, anyway.

So I really had no idea how to do this. I was determined to meet Jasper in a dress that _wasn't_ threadbare, and I knew I needed a big purse to stuff coffeecake into. So last night, I had taken my time walking through the nicely-hung clothes in the boutique, brushing my hands against the different fabrics and trying to guess what Jasper would like. In the end, I went with the most innocent, housewifely-looking one I could find. I figured that my Jasper was going to be on edge, meeting his psychic soul mate, and so I wanted to put him at ease as much as possible. And I thought I had read somewhere that pink had the power to calm people down. I spent another two hours touching the purses until I found a nice pink one to match the dress. Then, for the first time ever, I broke into the cash register and took thirty dollars, replacing it with a note that said "Sorry!"

So here I sat, in my new pink dress, with my first purse by my side, empty but for the thirty dollars. I ordered my first round of coffeecake and, while I waited for the clouds to get nasty, I checked the Meeting vision every ten minutes, tweaking my dialogue as I went. Apparently, if I started the conversation by jumping into his arms with "JasperIt'sMeAliceYourSoulMateI'veBeenWatchingYouForTwenty-EightYearsWithMyMagicVisions," things weren't going to go so well.

The clouds were coming along nicely, by ten o'clock, and my instincts were screaming that this was it. I had just ordered my third coffeecake, when I checked the Meeting again.

It was gone.

I grabbed the edge of the table in a panic, rewinding the vision back through time to see what I had done wrong. What had changed?! It had been perfectly fine ten minutes ago! I was new at this- the rewinding thing- and my panic grew as I darted around the future, stabbing at random. Had Jasper decided not to come down this street? Had he decided to hunt somewhere else?

After three and a half agonizing seconds, I finally found it.

_Jasper turned the corner onto this street, his collar pulled up against the rain. He saw the diner, glanced up at the clouds, and began to approach. But when he looked up at the diner again, he froze for a second, and then turned and ran._

It was so simple. He had seen a vampire sitting at one of the windows, and he had decided it wasn't worth the risk. I quickly got up out of the booth and moved to the counter, dragging my purse and my coffeecake with me. I couldn't see out the window anymore, but it had worked: the Meeting was back.

But my confidence wasn't. What had happened? What miniscule event had made Jasper skittish enough so that I had to change seats? And how could I predict-really- how he was going to react to me? Any number of things could go wrong, any second. Did I really have any idea what I was doing? What if I said something that scared him off? Made him attack me? I had never actually met another vampire before. What if-

I took a deep breath, releasing the part of my skirt that I had scrunched up in my panic. I smoothed it down, reminding myself that I needed to trust my visions- they had never steered me wrong before. And I had already been given my opening line in what I liked to call a destiny vision- those few visions that came before I made any decisions, like those I had had when I woke up. Jasper's face. The family portrait. The diner. These things were Meant To Be. Maybe the visions had done this on purpose- given me the booth view first, so that I could see the Pennsylvania license plates outside the window, and find the diner.

Trust the visions. Keep it light. _You've kept me waiting a long time._

"You want somethin' to drink, miss?"

The owner was right in front of my face, stinking of cigarettes and stale grease. I had been mad at him for eleven months now- for his stupid no-décor fetish- but I needed to keep him happy, too. Getting kicked out of the diner was not part of the plan.

"No thank you," I said sweetly. Coffee wasn't nearly as easy to hide away as coffeecake. I knew that the Cullens ate food sometimes, for show, but that was just plain disgusting.

"You waitin' for someone, then?" he asked, a knowing look in his eye.

"Yes," I said in a small voice. "He's due any minute. I think."

As if in reassurance, the first crack of thunder shook the air outside, and the owner shook his head in pity as the rain began to fall, darkening the windows with its curtain.

"Well, he ain't comin' now. Not with weather like that. Sorry."

I grinned behind my hands, waiting until his back was turned before tossing another chunk of cake into my purse. _I_ thought the weather was perfect. The Meeting vision began to shimmer with the urgency that always preceded the immediate future; it was seconds away now. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths as I waited, waited waited _waitedwaitedwaitedwaited_-

The door creaked, the bell jingled, and a glorious aroma wafted into the stale air of the diner. I took one final breath, opened my eyes, and turned to face my Destiny.


	6. 1948: Hope

**And here's Jasper's version. Let me just say this now, so no one gets disappointed at the end: Jasper's POV is also going to end with the diner scene (though a few seconds after Alice's did). Their relationship is so mystical, and so Fated, that I rather like the idea of leaving their romance unwritten. The next A&amp;J outtake won't come for a while; it will be Jasper's POV of the 1950 meeting with the Cullens (leading up to when Edward enters the house). But if I need a break from 1950 in the meantime, I might post another random outtake or two before that.**

**Warning: Despite its title, this chapter is pretty bleak, and Jasper is depressed. Suidical thoughts/ideations are mentioned. **

I trudged into Philadelphia, checking the sky as it lightened. A nice smattering of clouds, and a menacing shadow off to the Southwest: at least something was going right today. As I entered the city, the street lights began to blink out, one by one, and the lamps in the houses and apartments began to glow. The human natives, starting their morning rituals and heading off to work.

One of them wouldn't make it home tonight. I had waited too long already.

I had been stretching it out to every three days, lately. When I was with Maria, I never went more than once a day. And back in the heady days of our victory in Monterrey, I had sometimes had _three_ square meals a day. She might have been a monster, but she sure knew how to feed a man.

It wasn't until decades later, when I was free, that Peter and I figured it out. The more I fed, the _worse_ I felt. I could never have made the connection before then; I was always drowning in negative emotions, that I never would have been able to separate out my own from the heap. And even if I had, I was so miserable that I still wouldn't have noticed. But once I was away from all that, and my radar was silent but for the love that Peter and Charlotte shared, it didn't take long to discover that I was still miserable. And it didn't take Peter long to realize that I was the most miserable- and made _them_ the most miserable- after feeding.

And so here I was, attempting the impossible. My goal was the same it had been for six months now: stretch it out to every four days. I knew that I could do it, physically. But the point was to go four days _without_ going on a slaughter spree. Waiting until tonight was risky as it was, but I was going to see if I could do it. My hands were shoved in the deep pockets of my overcoat, to hide the tremors. I had a headache, and my throat was an empty wasteland of thirst. But I could do it. If I was ever going to reach four days, I _had_ to do this. And I needed to keep improving. Because if I didn't have some kind of project, some kind of goal, I was going to lose my mind even faster.

I had thought, often enough, about ending it. I was sure that Maria would be happy to oblige, if I were to go back and check in. I was a deserter, after all, and deserters got executed. Of course, with my luck, she'd probably refuse. She'd probably shower me with blood and put me right back to work. Not that it would stop me- I'd just toss myself onto the front lines, when the next battle came, and that would be that. Suicide was easy when you knew your way around Central America.

I would probably do it. If going four days without murder was the highlight of my life, then what was the point?

_It's not murder_, I reminded myself. _They're just humans. __Food. __Cattle. __Easy-open containers of warm, delicious-_

My hands started to shake harder in my pockets, longing for a neck to grasp, to pull to my teeth. My venom burned as I swallowed it, and I shook my head. See, this is what happens when I go this long. I start thinking of them as _people_. As if I needed more misery. The misery wasn't supposed to come until tonight, when I fed. I would spend the day sniffing around the city, looking for the best specimen. After all, if I was stretching it out like this, it had better be good. Noon was the best time to shop around- the herds always came out to graze at the little diners that dotted whatever city I was hunting in. And then I would wait until my prey was done at work, and lure him in an alley or something. And, like always, I would kill as quickly as possible, to minimize the emotional backfire. I might be eternally depressed, but I wasn't a masochist.

I had never killed children, after leaving Maria. And I had stopped killing women a few years ago, for the most part. I had noticed that their emotions were bigger, at the moment of death, and those female emotions had a tendency to stay with me longer. Also, women were harder to get alone at night, unless they were the nasty kind who liked to stand on street corners- and their blood usually stunk like liquor, anyway. And, if I was honest with myself, I hated the idea of killing a lady who might have kids at home.

_Stop it! __They're not people, you idiot! _I clenched my teeth while my so-called "gift" unwillingly processed the guilt as it doubled back on itself. This was new, the guilt. I hadn't really felt much of it back when I was going every other day. It was days like this, when I was the most thirsty, and had the tremors, that I wished I could go longer, save more lives. And that always got me thinking about those lives. Husbands, fathers, neighbors, friends… they had jobs, kids, pictures of their families stuck in their wallets, plans to play golf with their buddies on Saturday…

All right, that was it. I wasn't going to make it until tonight. I was becoming a basketcase. I would wait until noon, and I would just have to use the darkest alley I could find- one with a dumpster, for the cleanup. My right hand clenched the matchbook in my pocket in anticipation. Only one match left. I would have to drink a smoker today, to get some more. Shouldn't be too hard, since almost all of them smoked.

I began my hunt in the Western edge of the city. My eyes were dark enough that I could go where I wanted, if I kept my gaze down. And I was still in control enough, fortunately, to shop around. This was new, going around in the daytime. Having a third day, when my control and my eye color were balanced just right. But if I didn't hurry this up, the balance was going to tip.

I stepped into a drugstore first, testing the air to see if there was anyone promising inside. I checked a department store next- usually not the best turnout there, if I wanted to get a male. Next, a hardware store. A barbershop. Come on…

I finally found my prey, two hours later, in the ground floor of an office building. He was sitting at the desk in the lobby, wearing a security guard uniform. And judging by his tired eyes, and the fatigue and boredom floating around him, he was working a double shift.

Excellent. An exhausted human was a trusting human. I stepped inside, pretending to look at the list of companies and office numbers on the wall, shaking my head in confusion. I hated engaging my prey in conversation, like this; it always got the guilt going again. But it was necessary if I was planning on luring him into a dark alley later. In the daytime.

"Can I help you, sir?"

I turned around, keeping my eyes down and sending him a subtle wave of trust. "Yes, I'm looking for Dr. Wells. He's a…" I dropped my voice, stepping closer. "A cancer doctor."

I felt his pity, right on schedule. Didn't even need to help this time.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said gently. "But I think you've got the wrong building. I have a phone book, though. Wells, you said?"

"No, that's all right," I interrupted in annoyance. "I know it's on this street- he must be in the other building. My memory's just not the best lately, what with the treatments and all. Thank you."

Another wave of pity hit me, and I smiled sadly as I turned and headed for the door. This guy was going to be way, way too easy. And he smelled _divine_. Not even a smoker: bad for the match situation, but very, very good for the taste. I paused with my hand on the door, taking one last whiff to tide myself over until his lunch break, and walked back out into the street.

I devised my plan as I walked, looking for the nearest diner. I had been pleased not to smell a bag lunch anywhere near my prey. I was instantly rewarded: a greasy-spoon joint just around the corner. No doubt he would make a beeline for it as soon as he got the chance. And there was a nice, shady alley between the diner and his building.

Maybe this day wasn't turning out so bad, after all.

I would be ready for him, standing just inside the alley, looking confused again and sending him as much pity as I could muster. I would cough, if necessary, to get his attention. He would approach me, having remembered my ill health and forlorn expression earlier. I would confess that I had never found the doctor, and missed my appointment. He would offer to help, being the nice guy that he was, and he would draw closer to me. I would savor his awe, for just a minute, as he took in my beauty up close, and when the coast was clear, I would simply pull him into the shadows, kill him, and feed.

And then, it would begin.

I would come down from the frenzy, to find myself drowning in the fear and horror that he had given me in his death throes. I would collapse from the weight of it, and curl up into a shivering ball, waiting for the worst to pass. Then I would stand up, burn him in the dumpster, and move on. Since it was daylight, I would prop the lid open just a crack- the smoke would vent out slowly enough to go unnoticed on a cloudy day. Though judging by the stink in the alley, the dumpster was due to be emptied soon. I would need to move to another part of the city before feeding again.

And that was all. This was what I did, because this was what I was. Kill, feel, wait, thirst, kill. Day in and day out, for the rest of eternity. Granted, it was much better than kill, kill, kill. But it wasn't much.

And when the day came when I couldn't stand it anymore, I had my plan. I would take matters into my own hands, and go back to Maria to end it. But, then again, the thought of seeing her again was repulsive. Maybe I could just wander South and get myself killed by whoever was in a bad mood that day- though there was the risk of not being truly killed, if it wasn't a formal battle. I didn't relish the thought of my pieces burning in pain as they crawled back together over the course of several hours.

Maybe I could find a skirmish going on. There was usually a fire going by the time the action was over, and the victors always cleaned up. I might still be in pain for a while that way, but at least I wouldn't have to see Maria.

It was as good a plan as any.

But not today. This guy was going to be good, and I wasn't sure if I was _that_ depressed yet. I would see how I felt after feeding. I probably had a good two hours before he went on his lunch break, so I began to cross the street. Now that my body knew a meal was coming, the venom was flowing in earnest, but the tremors had subsided. Maybe there was a library around somewhere. That was one thing I enjoyed, at least- learning. And a library was a nice habitat for me: poor lighting, and usually calm in terms of emotions. It wasn't often that I struck this balance, where my eyes were dark enough to be in public, and yet I was controlled enough to risk it in the daytime, when libraries had patrons around. If I could get to four days, maybe I could do this more often…

My nose twitched. Vampire. Very faint- hours old. Probably someone who was just passing through like I was, but I would need to be careful. I lived in constant fear of being recognized, even this far North. There were plenty of enemies that I had left alive- never on purpose, but it happened quite frequently. The armies that we had faced were just the same as ours- loosely-bonded savages whose only real drive was self-preservation. It was rare that I ever faced an army that had someone as old as me in command, unless it was the leader himself. And even when there was a good commander, desertion was common, once it became clear that death was imminent.

I had always wondered what had happened to deserters. I even asked Maria once, when she was in a particularly good mood. She had assured me that the whole populated world was one big battlefield, and that anyone who ran from one battle just found themselves in the middle of another.

And, being the sycophantic idiot that I was, I had believed her.

Now that I knew the truth, I had no way of knowing how many of our kind were wandering about. I assumed that many were peaceable, and had never had any contact with the Wars. Peter and Charlotte had encountered a few like that, before returning for me- but I wasn't about to press my luck. When I smelled vampire, I went the other way.

So now that I smelled it, here in Philadephia, my instincts started itching to run out of town. And I would, after I fed. I decided against my library trek, as well. It was better to stay in one place, and not spread my scent around. I slowed my steps and began loitering around the stores on my block, taking care not to cross directly in front of my prey's building.

Before long, there was a crash overhead, followed by a flash of lightening. I looked up, to feel the first raindrops on my face.

Great. Just great. The humans around me put up their umbrellas. And those that hadn't been prepared pulled up their collars and started running for cover, grumbling about the weather. It was just water, for crying out loud. And now I had to get out of the rain too, or I would attract attention. I could go back to the alley. I could wait there, but then I would be a drowned rat by the time my prey came by later. It would help with the pity-me part, but I hated being drenched. My lack of body temperature, my coat and my longish hair made drying off an hours-long process. I glanced back toward the diner- maybe I would just duck in there for a while. I would have to put up with the greasy stink of the food, but that actually might help to keep my thirst at bay while I waited. And if I sat in one of the booths, I would have a nice view of the entrance to my prey's building.

The rain was my friend, I supposed, in the case of there possibly being another vampire about. His scent was already gone. My scent would wash away just as easily while I was holed up in the diner, and then I could feed without fear of being interrupted. I still felt nervous, but I knew the chances of encountering the stranger had just gone down. It was funny, though. Now that I actually was at risk of getting into a fight, I wanted to avoid it. Maybe I wasn't as depressed as I thought.

I turned the corner, pulled up my collar like the rest of them, and headed for the diner. I glanced through the windows, not wanting to walk into an enclosed space filled with delicious, rain-logged humans. I didn't have a complete view of the interior, but it appeared empty, save for the filthy, obese proprietor who was just turning around, away from the counter. I would go in, ask for a cup of coffee, and swish it around in my cup until the rain stopped, or until I saw my prey exit his building. I wished I had thought of it five minutes earlier; my hair was already wet, sending rivulets of rain down the overcoat. I brushed absently at the extra moisture, hoping my last match hadn't gotten wet.

I swung the door open, annoyed by the jingle that announced my entry. But my annoyance quickly turned to fear as the smell of fresh vampire hit me- the same one as before. My eyes darted to the tiny female sitting at the counter, who was just turning to look at me. She was slender, with a pretty pink dress and short black hair which stuck out as if it was trying to get away from her head. My feet ached to run, though I knew she was no real threat; I could kill her before she had a chance to blink.

But I was too curious to leave yet- there was something odd about this girl. For one thing, her eyes were the most peculiar shade of… gold? And her smile when she saw me was out of place, as well. Wasn't she frightened of me? I was a male, after all, and much bigger than her. And there was only one witness- a disposable one, at that.

No, she wasn't frightened. In fact, her emotions were the most perplexing thing of all. I was being bombarded with excitement, relief, anxiety, certainty, and something else. Something I had only felt once before, from Peter and Charlotte, and only directed at each other.

It was love, and it was aimed right at me.

Love?

_Me_?

I felt a sudden urge to turn and look behind me, to see who she was really looking at. But I didn't, because she was already hypnotizing me with her golden eyes.

She hopped down from her stool, approaching me head on. Did she seriously think a frontal attack was a good idea? I stiffened, both in the face of her ridiculous strategy, but also in confusion as her misplaced emotions drew closer and closer. There must be some mistake…

She stopped sixteen inches away from me, her smile lighting up her little face. She took a deep breath, and spoke in a high, tinkling voice that shot right through my apprehension.

"You've kept me waiting a long time."

What was I supposed to say to something like that? Her love was so close now, I felt like I was floating in it. My feet were lifting off the ground, and my head was spinning with her scent.

And so I said the only thing I could think of. Because for some odd reason, I suddenly felt reduced to the nineteen-year-old boy that I was, staring at a pretty girl and stammering for something poetic to say. I ducked my head bashfully, and murmured, "I'm sorry, ma'am."

Her smile grew even bigger, and she extended her hand. And, much to my surprise, I found my hand meeting hers, and that was it.

I was lost.

Her touch sent a shock wave through me, lighting up every cell with life and color. Her love and relief tripled instantaneously, and a new emotion was borne out of the mix. This one was tricky, because I was very, very unfamiliar with it. Uncertainty? Anticipation?

It was hope, I finally decided. It seemed at odds with the certainty and relief that were coating every emotion she was sending me. What was she hoping for, as her tiny fingers laced through my own? All I knew was that my other hand reached up to meet her other one, and we both leaned forward, breathing in each other's scent more fully. I tightened my grip on her fingers and pulled her closer, and closer, until my hesitant embrace was a blanket around her slim shoulders. She was almost a foot and a half shorter than me; she was practically lost inside my arms. I had only held vampires like this before for one reason, and one reason only: to behead them.

And here she was, leaning into my chest, her eyes closing and _trust_ pouring out of her. I suddenly felt a most peculiar urge to protect this strange girl, who was trusting me with her life. And her heart, it seemed. There it went again! The hope, surging stronger and stronger.

"Well! Looks like he made it after all."

The human's voice snapped us back to reality, and I discovered that I had been bending down, my cheek on the top of her head. I straightened back up, released one of the girl's hands, and reached behind me to open the door again. As we stepped out into the rain, staring at each other, it finally dawned on me. The hope wasn't coming from her at all.

It was coming from _me_.


	7. 1927: Failure

**Several of you voted for the various Carlisle 1927 outtakes that I had suggested, and so I decided to combine them all into one larger outtake here. This is actually important down the line, in the 1950 story. In preparation for this outtake you may want to reread the final chapter of 1926, and definitely the "Departure" chapter of 1927, to which this outtake corresponds.**

* * *

**Carlisle POV**

Esme and I had spent all night looking for Edward. His petulance during our telephone call yesterday had shocked Esme, but that was par for the course lately. It had been obvious that a human had been present in the room, what with his use of the words "Mom" and "Dad". And the fact that he rarely used such intimate terms had made it all the more hurtful.

But his deliberate disobedience was truly puzzling. I couldn't remember a single time, not even in his volatile newborn months, when he had actually _defied_ me. At least he had given an excuse, though it had been disguised in human vocabulary- that he needed to hunt. But after the sun had set, we had truly grown worried and headed into the woods to search.

Maybe this was all a misunderstanding. Edward had been under a lot of stress lately, after all. And when he had continually refused to confide in me, I had swallowed my hurt and given him his space. I needed to remember that he was seventeen. His identity would always be a confusing mix of boy and man, and perhaps his recent mood swings were actually more normal than not.

There was the troubling component of his thirst, though. I hadn't seen his eyes a healthy gold in two months now, and I knew he was hunting more and more often. His emotions had been turbulent, and tending more towards anger, though he had usually remained polite, if not amiable. It must be the emotional turmoil that was causing his thirst to grow- intense emotions had a way of burning through a vampire's energy, making him need to hunt more often. The trouble was, I still had no idea what was causing this recent upheaval. There had been the visit from Demetri and Jane, a few months ago; though Edward hadn't started his downward spiral until he had returned to school in January. He had been strangely silent for a while after their departure, but not belligerent. Perhaps that was really when the problem had begun. Perhaps I had hurt him more than I thought, when I had spoken for him that day. Perhaps _I_ was the problem.

Well, whatever it was, I had let this go on long enough. I just hoped that Edward would be home when we got back to the house, and that he would have a good explanation for his behavior. But regardless of his excuses, I was through walking on eggshells. He was going to tell me what was going on, whether he wanted to or not.

I was relieved, then, and nervous, when I caught his fresh scent near the house. Esme sighed in relief as well, squeezing my hand silently. I swallowed, unsure how to proceed. It was one thing to resolve to become a more involved father, but it was another to do it. What if he refused to talk, even when I demanded his cooperation? What was I supposed to do _then_, if my efforts were met with more of his stony silence?

We entered the backyard, to find Edward also coming out of the woods, around the eastern edge of the yard. He looked terrible, and my anger dissolved immediately when I saw him. His eyes were almost black, with dark circles underneath, and a drawn, starved look on his face. As he drew toward us, his expression hardened, not into the regret I had been hoping to see, nor the tortured confusion that he had been wearing for weeks now.

He looked _resolved_.

Esme broke away from me and ran into his arms. As he held her, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as though he had been starved for her scent. Or as though… I felt a sinking feeling. He looked as though he was memorizing her scent, breathing it for the last time.

"Well, son?" I murmured, afraid.

He straightened up, still holding Esme with one arm. He clenched his jaw, and I stopped breathing.

He spoke slowly at first. "Carlisle… Esme…" He licked his lips, and said the rest in a rush. "I just want you to know that I'm sorry for my behavior lately. Neither of you have deserved my rudeness, or the strain I have put on this… family."

I relaxed a bit. Maybe I had been reading him wrong. Maybe his "resolve" had simply been regarding giving his apology. After all, what seventeen-year-old likes to admit that he was wrong? I laid my hand hesitantly on his shoulder, taking the opportunity he was giving me.

"Whatever it is, Edward, we can deal with it together. We always have." _Please, son, let me help you. __Talk to me. __We can go into the woods, alone if you like, and…_

My hopeful thought faded away as he looked down at me, the resolve still strong in his eyes. "Not this time," he said.

Esme drew in a sharp breath, clinging more tightly to his shoulder. "You're… you're leaving us?"

Edward nodded, and the sounds of the forest vanished. All I could hear were Esme's words echoing, over and over: _You're leaving us?_

Suddenly Edward's eyes snapped down to Esme's, and he caught her up in another hug. But she pushed him away, staring desperately into his eyes, no doubt begging him mentally to reconsider. His eyes darted, pained, back and forth between the two of us as we thought our protests. _Edward, no! __Let's just slow down. __Let's talk about this! __Let me help you, please!_

When he spoke again, his voice was uneven, uncertain. "I'm sorry, it's just that… I need some time alone. I need to… I need to be on my own for a while."

"For how long?" asked Esme in a trembling voice.

He swallowed. "I... I don't know."

I just shook my head. This couldn't really be happening; it was all a misunderstanding. "Edward, please… your mother and I don't understand. Up until a few months ago, you were happy. What happened to make you-"

My voice cut off as my throat filled with venom, and with fear. I knew exactly what had happened, when all this had begun: the visit from the Volturi. It didn't explain his recent deterioration, but no other event had really happened in the past year. What if he had decided to accept their offer, after all? What if his brooding over these past months had actually been brooding over the decision to go- the decision I had thought over and done with? What if he was heading to Italy right _now_? _Edward, no, don't go to them! __Once you are in Aro's clutches, you'll never be free again! __Is that what you want?_

But he shook his head, answering the question in my panicked thoughts. He finally stepped toward me and embraced me, whispering in my ear, "I won't go to them, I promise."

I relaxed, but only a bit. If he wasn't going to the Volturi, then where was he going? He pulled out of my arms and began backing away, his jaw clenched in his final resolve.

"I love you both," he said in a shaking voice as he took another step backwards. "Please understand; I will always be grateful for the years we have spent together. I could not have chosen two better friends… or parents." His voice broke in the end, and for a split second I saw my son again, the seventeen-year-old boy who was confused and trying to make a decision that was bigger than he was.

And then he was gone.

He turned and ran- there was no point in trying to catch him. I just stood, unbreathing in my shock as I called to him frantically. _Please, son! __I don't understand. __Please come back when you are able. __We'll stay in this house as long as we can. __We love you, Edward, we always will. __Please come home! __Edward!_

Esme was weeping in earnest right now, and it was all I could do to hold her without weeping, myself. I knew he could hear her- didn't he see that he was breaking her heart? But I couldn't find it within myself to be angry.

He was breaking my heart, as well.

.

.

.

Esme and I stood in silence, waiting for the bad dream to end. Surely any minute he would return. He would apologize to Esme. He would finally break down and weep, and he would finally tell me what was going on. We would figure it out, and our family would remain whole.

Hours passed, and day faded into night. Still, we stood frozen, staring at the trees that had swallowed our son. Finally, well after sunset, the phone rang. I sprung to life, jumping in through an open window upstairs- Edward's window- and nearly broke the telephone receiver as I snatched it off the hook.

"Edward?" I gasped. _Please, please…_

But it was Harry's voice, from the hospital. "Carlisle? Is that you?"

I sighed my disappointment, shaking my head to Esme, who had just rushed into the hallway. She started to weep silently again, turning away and closing the bedroom door behind her. "It's me, Harry. What can I do for you?"

"How about showing up for work on time?" he said coldly. "If you're still sick, you could have called in, at least!"

I glanced lifelessly over to the clock in the hall: 8:30. "Oh," I said.

"So, are you coming, or not?" he demanded.

"I'm not," I said flatly, and hung up the phone. I need the line clear, in case Edward called. I just stood there, staring at the phone, until I felt Esme's arms around me. I blinked, and it was daylight again.

"What are we going to do?" Esme whispered.

Do? What was there to do? Edward didn't want to be a part of our family anymore. Or at least he thought he didn't. What could I do, other than stand here and wait for him to come back, or call?

I had to do _something._

"I'm going to look for him," I announced.

Esme nodded silently. "I'll stay here, in case he calls or comes back another way."

I jumped back out his open window, running to follow his scent. I cursed myself as I ran; why didn't I think of this earlier? Had he wanted me to follow him? I didn't think so, considering the speed at which he had departed. But I had to try. If there was even a chance that he was sitting somewhere in this forest, curled up in some tree branch and analyzing himself to death- it wouldn't be the first time- then I had to try. I should have tried last night. I should have followed him…

But all I found was a tangled mess of his scent. He had criss-crossed our section of the forest several times, and I couldn't help but feel a little angry. He had obviously done this so that I wouldn't be able to follow him. He truly _didn't_ want to be found this time.

The sun was setting again when I finally gave up and returned home. I jumped back in through Edward's window, quietly closing the window behind me this time. If this room was going to be the last place to bear his scent, I wanted to keep the air saturated with it as long as possible. I breathed in deeply, and an odd pain tore down the center of my chest as I smelled my son's sweet aroma. It was everywhere in this room; especially on the couch, his favorite books, the globe, his journals…

I swallowed, as I remembered the way he had locked himself in here so often lately, pouring his heart out into his journal, instead of to me. I wondered if he knew how many hours I had stood in the hallway, right outside his door, wishing he would ask me to come in and talk. How many hours I had stood there, listening to the frantic scratching of his pen as he confided whatever-it-was to a lifeless volume, when he knew his father was standing a mere ten feet away, patiently waiting for his trust.

I had been too patient, it seemed. I had a mind to…

I glanced out at the hallway, and saw Esme standing in a trance exactly where I had left her: staring at the telephone. She wasn't even breathing, and I was sure she hadn't heard me come in. I quietly closed the bedroom door, and, before I could think better of it, I crossed the room to Edward's bookshelf and pulled out the stack of unlabelled journals.

Was I really going to do this? I might as well, now. My scent was already on them. If he returned tomorrow, and got angry at me for touching them, at least I might as well learn what I could. I tossed the earlier ones onto the leather couch, and opened the one that had been on the far right of the stack.

_5 January, 1926_

_School has resumed. __I am continuing in my efforts to learn German solely from Mr. Heilsberg's thoughts. __I have most of the vocabulary down, but still having difficulty distinguishing…_

I tossed that one onto the couch, flipping through the first pages of each of the others to find the one from this year.

_1 January, 1923_

_Heavy snow this morning, and Esme built a snowman out by the road while Carlisle and I…_

_._

_5 January, 1920_

_Carlisle told me that I can't go to town during the day anymore. __All the other young people are back in school, and I would have difficulty explaining my presence, as I am not supposed to exist. __He says that when we move this summer, I will be ready to start school in our new home. __I cannot wait to…_

_._

_20 March, 1919_

_Carlisle says it will help if I write down my thoughts in here, when it gets bad. __That if I can organize the (expletive) circus going on in my head, and separate it from my own thoughts, that I will be able to keep calm for longer periods of time. __I don't see why we need to live so close to the humans now. It's not like I'm allowed to go outside the house when he isn't here. __I wasn't…_

_._

_2 January, 1921_

_Just returned from spending Christmas with our cousins up in Alaska. __Had a pleasant time with Eleazar, who spent some time teaching me some new fighting techniques. __And Carmen was warm and friendly, as always. __Irina was tolerable, though her thoughts are always so sharp. __But as for the other two… if I never see a female vampire again, it'll be too soon. __Tanya actually…_

_._

_1 January 1922_

_Another New Year. __Actually looking forward to returning to school tomorrow. __I love my parents, but if I have to listen to their amorous imaginings one more time…_

_._

_10 February 1925_

_Have waited to begin this year's entries until I had something interesting to write, but I haven't, so I might as well begin anyway. __Back at school, and to the same monotony as…_

_._

_19 October 1918_

_As per my request, Carlisle got this journal for me when he went into town today. __Just remembered last week that I used to do this back when I was human. __Back when I was alive. __I would have had my birthday by now, if it hadn't been for the (expletive) Spanish Flu. __Of course, there's really no point in pretending that I have any sort of…_

_._

_3 January 1924_

_School resumed today. __Sometimes I wish I could sleep through my classes, the way some of my peers do. __If I didn't have my…_

_._

I dropped the last one, looking around the room in frustration. Where was the 1927 one? I knew he had journaled profusely in recent weeks. I looked through the rest of the bookshelf, through the drawers in his desk, even under his mattress.

Gone.

He couldn't have taken it with him- he hadn't even been wearing a coat, and the journals were too large to hide in one's pocket. He had even left his wallet behind. It was more likely that he had destroyed it, so that I wouldn't be able to read it. My anger rose again, but it was tampered by guilt, that he had suspected the very breach of privacy that I was already committing.

Well, I would make do with what I had. I sat back down on the couch and arranged the journals by year, and began to read. I tried not to be offended by the vulgar language and crumpled pages in the two earliest. Edward's newborn period had been doubly difficult. His thirst had been challenging enough, being complicated by my own, and by the time we had gotten that mostly under control, then he had to go through a whole other "newborn period" as I brought him back closer to human society.

The thoughts and dreams of our neighbors had bombarded him mercilessly- along with my own, of course. And as I had begun to work again, we encountered yet another challenge; Edward was severely affected when I thought about patients I had seen that day, as my memories often included up-close human scents, and imagery containing plenty of blood. I had switched from the Emergency Room to the Convalescent Floor, and I had slowly begun to learn controlling my work-related thoughts around my new son. These changes had helped. All in all though, Edward's first sixteen months had been a trying time for both of us.

As I read on through the years, I watched as Edward processed and commented on his "non-life", as he often called it in the journals. I wasn't surprised to see his cynicism come out so clearly, but I was saddened by it. And even more sad was the standard to which he held himself, even in his first year. Never once did he accuse me directly of anything- even of destroying his soul- but it was clear that he had continued to struggle with such issues, long after our debates had died down. Actually, it seemed as though he often wrote about me with a sort of reverence, even when his words about me were complaints.

It wasn't all doom and gloom, of course. Edward also recorded personal events, as well as local and national news, weather, his studies, his interests- and ours, and comments about his music. I was touched to see his fretting over Esme's newborn troubles, and his pride in her successes. And I was especially pleased to read his tender account of Esme's and my whirlwind romance, and how happy he was for us, despite the difficulties that it caused him, personally. I thought, for a moment, about calling Esme in to read that part, but decided against it.

By the time I reached early autumn of 1926, I had grown accustomed to the tedium, and often, disinterest, with which Edward recorded things. The only phrases that had any life to them were when he had learned something new, or anything about books and music, or when he was writing about our little family. So when I turned the page to the one containing the account of Demetri's and Jane's visit, I was surprised to find that this was the longest entry he had ever made. He had described, in incredible detail, every second of their visit, including everything that both of them, and Esme and I, had thought. I winced to read his description of the pain that Jane's gift had brought him, and it hurt even more to read the truth that I had suspected I might find- that he had resented my presumption that day, in speaking for him.

But the worst shock was still to come. There was an inkblot at the end of the narrative, as though he had held his pen in place for a while. And then a new paragraph:

_I have never before considered what other paths are available, other than this one. __Will I always live with those I call my parents, playing the eternal teenage son? __I am grateful that I began this life with a teacher, and I love Carlisle and Esme as if they were truly my parents. __But is it right that I should forever defer to a man who, by human standards, is only six years my elder? __Most vampires live alone, after all. __If I were to spend some time on my own, would I necessarily continue to follow the dietary choices of my creator? __Perhaps the difference between a good life and a bad life is not as defined as Carlisle seems to think – in fact, I do not have life at all. __I am dead in so many ways – perhaps my soul has already flown above, or perhaps it was destroyed when I was bitten, infused with the means to become more than human. __I cannot imagine that God still sees me in the same way as He did before. __Rather, He must see my kind as the predatory animals that we are. __Why should I cling to a moral structure that assumes my humanity? If I __were to try-_

There was a squiggle of ink trailing off the word "try", and then the sentence continued.

_-a natural lifestyle, would I be sinning? __Would it even matter? __Would it be so wrong to, someday, see what I have been missing? __I know that Carlisle has tasted human blood, though he was careful not to dwell on it, when he changed me and Esme. __Is it so wrong to be curious? __I have always been so careful- militant, even- in my refusal to dwell on the tempting scents of my human peers and teachers, or others that I find myself near. __And I acknowledge that it was necessary, back in the beginning._

_But I am a mature vampire now- I no longer fear losing control of myself. __Perhaps I have been a little too austere. __There would be no harm in relaxing my sensory rigidity, and appreciating those scents that I find myself near. __In fact, it might be a good idea. __It would strengthen my control to a whole new level, and it would possibly satisfy that part of myself which is thirsting for more than it is being given. __In this way, I can keep my resolve on the matter of diet itself, and Carlisle and Esme will still have their son. __I am determined to make myself in every way content, and to remain in this lifestyle with those I love._

My hands were trembling by the time I finished that day's entry. It had been dated just three weeks after the Guard's departure, and it was followed by a list, dated the very next day.

A list of scents.

He had returned to school the next morning, and begun analyzing the human scents around him. At first, he busied himself by separating out the different types of scents- blood was just called "blood", in a list of others: breath, food recently eaten, alcohol, traces of medication types, soaps, fabrics, etc. But by the second week of his new "analysis", he was already teasing out each person's individual blood scent, and describing it in detail.

In _great_ detail.

Interspersed between the lists were one-sided arguments about the relative morality of vampires feeding on humans. And while he never mentioned doing so himself, it was obvious that he was trying to talk himself into getting used to the idea.

By the time the entries reached December, I noticed he was dwelling especially on a girl named Margaret Weiss. He wrote about her scent often, and while he never mentioned the word "taste", it was obvious that he was spending as much time near her as possible, and others who smelled especially tempting. He had finally used the word "tempting" in mid-December, along with other notable shifts in his word choices. His handwriting was slightly altered by the end, as well- more rushed, less precise. His eloquence never suffered, though; in fact, he had become downright poetic in some of his descriptions. His attentions to human blood had progressed very quickly from analysis, to fixation, to obsession. His two entries over Christmas vacation reminded me of the language sometimes used by alcoholics, when they were going through withdrawal. He never came out and said it, but it was clear that for the first time ever, he had been counting the minutes until he returned to school, and it wasn't because of the academics.

It ended there. Without seeing the 1927 journal, I could only guess at what had happened between December 31 and now, that had made him decide to leave. But one thing was clear: my son had been drowning in substance abuse, and I hadn't even known it. Human science had already proven that the sense of smell was actually processing small amounts of matter; it wasn't much of a leap to apply that truth to Edward's situation. If anything, the phenomenon would be _more_ pronounced in a vampire. I doubted that blood cells could travel through the air, but a human's scent was closely linked to the qualities of their blood. He had, essentially, been drawing in miniscule amounts of human blood via scent- increasing amounts- and his body had reacted accordingly. He had slowly been turning into a traditional vampire, though he himself hadn't know it. All those benefits which our lifestyle brought us had been falling away, over the course of a few months.

Everything made sense now. The mood swings, the extra time journaling, the thirst and hunting issues, the trouble at school…

All under my very nose. And I just stood there, passively wishing that my son would talk to me. What kind of a father _was_ I? He hadn't known to ask for help. I remembered the confusion on his face, those times when he had needed to hunt more often than usual. And I called myself a physician! My son, my own _son_ had needed help and I hadn't known it.

I touched the journals gently, as a biological parent might tenderly touch the tiny, framed pictures of their child, taken at different ages. As much as I wanted to give in to despair, I couldn't. I had done the best that I could as a father, though it hadn't turned out to be enough. I had, ultimately, failed, but there was no point in drowning myself in guilt, other than to feel more pain. And my patients needed me. Esme needed me.

_Edward_ needed me. Where was he? And more importantly, what was he _doing?_

I hated to suspect the worst. I hated to think that the 1927 entries would have shown me a young man who had decided, after months of fighting temptation, that he didn't want this lifestyle anymore. That he had decided to start hunting humans, after getting so many small doses of their blood without even knowing it. That this very moment, his eyes were… red. But try as I might, I couldn't deny the direction that his journal entries, and his recent behavior, pointed towards.

I desperately tried to come up with scenarios in which Edward hadn't become a murderer. But the strongest hope I could muster was that he had just buckled under the stress of his addiction, and sought solitude in the wilderness, as he had done before. That his parting words had been an adolescent overreaction to his mental state, and that he was already regretting them. That he was continuing to resist the darker side of his nature, and that he would soon return home- perhaps even more broken than we had seen him before, but ready for the loving comfort of his parents. His eyes haunted, but still golden.

It wasn't that murder was so outrageous. Of course it was awful- and my heart ached for the families which might already be suffering because of my creation- but that wasn't my main worry. Accidents happened, and young men made foolish mistakes, though they didn't generally involve murder. After decades of deliberation, I had accepted that risk, when I changed Edward. No, my fear was for Edward himself. I feared that when he came to his senses, either after the first kill, or centuries later, that he would be torn apart by the guilt and grief that were sure to descend upon him. He had always been a dutiful son, but that was not because he was meek. It was because he was obsessed with duty, itself. He had always been hard on himself, and I shuddered to think how long it would take him to get to the point where the horror of his deeds would strike him down.

_Stop_, I commanded myself. _You don't know that he's done any of that, at least not yet._ I could still hope- albeit weakly- for the other scenario. But even if that were the case, I still had no way of finding him. All I could do was hope and pray that he found his way back to us before long… no matter what color his eyes were tonight.

I set the journals back in their place on the bookshelf, and made one last search of Edward's room for the missing journal. When I had done this, I finally opened the bedroom door.

"Esme."

She gasped and spun around, looking past me eagerly. Her shoulders drooped when she didn't find who she was looking for. "No sign of him?"

"No."

She took a deep breath. "Now what?"

I closed my eyes, deliberating. Should I tell her what I had just read? I knew that keeping something this big from my wife was wrong, but it would be cruel to let her see what I had just seen. He might come home soon, after all; perhaps tonight, or tomorrow. There was no point in subjecting her to the worry that I was carrying, especially if it would end up being unnecessary by this time tomorrow.

But then I looked at her again. Her own eyes were black now, but not from thirst. Her only child had been swept away from her- again- and this time, she didn't know what to think. I had to give her something. I would share my worry with her. I wouldn't tell her about the journals, though. It was unnecessary, and I couldn't bear for her to see the lifelessness with which Edward had described his "non-life", not to mention the sudden "awakening" in his writing at the end. If I had only his written words to go by, I would have thought that he was happier since his addiction had begun. But I only had to remember his deepening anger and confusion, lately, to know what a lie that was. I would keep these darker burdens to myself, even as I laid the worst one on her heart. As his mother, she deserved no less than what I feared was the truth.

"Esme." I laid my hands on her shoulders, and gently drew her to me. "Surely you've noticed how… differently Edward has been acting lately. Especially in regards to his thirst."

She shrugged. "Of course."

"Darling… I think we need to consider the possibility that Edward has truly decided to… move on." How did I want to say this? "He's been getting thirstier lately, and his behavior has been a little less… civilized of late."

"Of course it was," she said sadly. "He was hurting. But instead of letting us help him, he just-" Her face scrunched up toward weeping again, and I pulled her face into my chest.

"I know, dear. I wish he hadn't done that. But I've been doing some thinking, and I think he left because… well, maybe he didn't want to hurt us."

"What do you mean?"

I held her tighter, so tight that she couldn't breathe. "I think that Edward may have decided to begin hunting humans."

She yanked away from me, her face stricken. "Why?" she demanded. "Why do you think that? He's never said anything about being unhappy… that way."

I tried to reach for her, but she backed away, shaking her head angrily. "How could you, Carlisle? How could you say that about our _son_? He's never even made a mistake before!"

"I know, I know. But you have to admit, it explains everything."

"No, it doesn't! His eyes-"

"He hadn't done it yet, when he left. But I think that is why he left, Esme. I can't be sure, but… I think we need to accept the possibility."

She began to cry again, and she finally let me hold her as she shook her head over and over against my shoulder. "You're wrong," she said, when she could speak again. "I know you're wrong."

"I hope I am," I said gently. "But for now, there's nothing we can do except wait for him to return."

She nodded, pulling away and wiping her eyes, as if real tears were flooding them. "You should go to work," she said flatly. "I'll wait for him here."

"Work?" I echoed. I looked at the clock; if I left now, I might actually be on time. "Yes, I think that's best," I murmured, and I went mechanically to get my coat.

Esme followed me to the front door, and I turned to kiss her goodbye, hoping I had done the right thing by telling her. "Esme, listen. If he does come back while I'm at work, and his eyes are… I mean, if I was right, it doesn't matter. Accident or not. We'll forgive him and help him clean up, and then we'll move."

She just nodded, looking down at nothing. As the door shut in my face, I keenly felt the absence of Edward's gift. What was my wife thinking right now? Was she angry, or did she just need to be alone? Did she really think I was wrong? Mothers had a way of knowing things. Maybe she was hurt because she knew I was right.

.

.

.

I was shoving my coat into my locker when Harry found me. He wasn't happy.

"Well, Carlisle Cullen finally decided to join us!"

I turned around, too exhausted to defend myself. "Harry, I'm sorry about yesterday…"

"Hmph! Well, every man needs a day off now and then, but I can't say I've ever been hung _up_ on by one of my docs before. What do you have to say for yourself, Cullen?"

I just stared back at him, with every ounce of "trust me" that I could pour into it. "I'm sorry, Harry. It won't happen again."

His gaze softened; but it seemed that I had achieved pity, rather than trust. "All right. We'll let it go." He leaned in closer. "I know that look, Carlisle. Your wife left you, didn't she?"

I laughed once, an empty, false sound. "No, my wife didn't leave me. My son…" I looked at my boss. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. And he had a son Edward's age. Well, Edward's physical age. "My son left home suddenly."

Harry leaned back on his heels, nodding his head sympathetically. "Been there," he grunted.

"What?"

"Jonny just took off once- last year, actually. Barely said goodbye, just said he needed to be on his own for a while."

I slammed my locker, staring at him. I couldn't really confide in Harry, but the situations were uncannily similar. And I knew that Jonny was still at home now- he had just come in the other day to have his father sign a school paper. "And what happened?"

He barked out a laugh- much jollier than my own had been. "He called me a week later, asking me to come and get him. He had been ten miles away, the whole time. He had gone straight to my sister's house, and she didn't even tell me. Can you believe it?"

"No."

"Well, believe it. Turns out he had been running with the wrong crowd, and panicked when the police started sniffing around. Not that my Jonny had done anything wrong himself," he added hastily.

"Of course not," I said absently. "Harry?"

"Shoot."

"I hate to do this, but…"

He waved his hand. "Go on, go home. You look like hell, anyway."

I nodded my thanks and ran to the telephone.

"Esme, anything?"

"No."

"I'll be home in fifteen minutes. I want you to write Edward a note- tell him we'll be back tomorrow, and to wait for us, no matter what."

"Where are we going?"

I took a deep, hopeful breath. "Alaska."

.

.

.

"Why don't they have a telephone?" Esme asked as we flew up the highway toward Denali.

"They always live in the same place, and so they like to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Besides, they don't see the need for one."

"Except in situations like this," she said bitterly. "He could be getting home right now, and here we are driving farther away."

"I know. But we have to try this. It's the only place he might have gone to."

"Unless he's out murdering humans," she said coldly, her words full of accusation. At me.

I sighed, looking over at her tiredly. "Esme…"

She just shook her head, and looked out the window. We drove the rest of the way in silence. But as the Denali's house came into view, she leaned forward with expectation. She had never met our cousins before, and I couldn't believe so much time had passed since we had come here. I had been about to have us all make the trip after Demetri and Jane had come. But Edward hadn't been himself at the time, and I had decided that subjecting him to the busyness of our extended family could wait for another time- especially if Tanya was up to her old tricks. I supposed that I had also been a little nervous about the "succubus sisters" meeting my new wife. I loved my cousins, and they had long since given up on trying to seduce me, but I had still been a bit anxious about how they would behave around Esme.

I regretted it now, though. Eleazar was the closest thing Edward had to an uncle or an older brother, and it might have been good for him to have someone else to talk to. Maybe it would have prevented some of this wretchedness. I would never know now; I just hoped that Edward had possibly had the idea on his own, and he was here now. This was my last effort, and then I was going to accept the hard truth.

But as Esme and I ran up to the front door, I felt a surge of hope. Even if Edward hadn't come to stay here, maybe he had stopped in. I knew that he could run like the wind, and it was entirely possible that he had already been here for at least a day. I sniffed the air eagerly, trying not to be disappointed when I found no trace of Edward. The air was thinner up here...

"Carlisle!" Tanya said happily as she opened the door. "What a surprise!" Her eyes drifted to Esme, and there was only a brief flicker of something ugly before she smiled warmly. "And this must be your Esme. Welcome to the family, dear! But where's Edward?"

Her question hit me harder than I had thought it would. "He's not here?" I asked weakly.

She shrugged. "No. Should he be? He's _your_ son, Carlisle. Don't tell me you've lost him!"

I just stared at her, and her face changed as she watched the despair set in. I knew that, logically, Edward not being here didn't really mean anything. He could be on his way, or he could still be near home, like Harry had said about his own son. But for some reason, this was the moment when I knew, I _knew_ that my theory was correct. I knew it, in my petrified bones.

Edward had truly left us. He had left us, and he was out there somewhere, killing people and drinking their blood. As his creator, I might as well be killing them myself. I felt like I was shrinking down into my shoes, like the insides of me were being torn out. I felt my failure as a father settle over me, and one question echoed desperately in my mind:

Would I ever see my son again?

The silence was interrupted by Eleazar, who pulled the door open fully. "Come in, Carlisle, Esme," he murmured. "Tell us everything."

The story didn't take long. I wasn't about to share what I had learned from Edward's journals, and I really didn't know what else to say, other than what Esme and I had observed over the past few months. I wasn't even going to tell them my suspicion about his diet, but then Kate asked where I thought he had gone. Esme broke down crying then, and the ladies whisked her away upstairs.

Eleazar and I were left standing awkwardly alone in the living room. I quietly told him my suspicion, and he reluctantly agreed that it explained everything that had changed about Edward's behavior.

"If you ask me," he said quietly, "he's gone to take Demetri up on his offer."

"No, he hasn't."

"Why not?"

"I just don't think that's where he is," I replied tiredly. I couldn't bring myself to betray my son's private thoughts , not even to Eleazar. If he wanted to think that Edward went to Italy, let him.

"I mean, I wouldn't blame him if he did," Eleazar continued with a faraway look in his eyes.

I just clenched my teeth against the angry words that wanted to pour out. Eleazar was in one of his "missing Italy" moods, it seemed. No doubt the aftereffects of Aro's visit last year. But yelling at my cousin wasn't going to solve anything.

"If you do see or hear from him…" I began.

"We'll write, of course. Or bring him ourselves, if… you know."

If he wanted to be brought.

I murmured my thanks, and called Esme downstairs. I hated to leave again right away, but some dying part of me hoped that Edward might be at home, waiting for us.

"I'd like to get back," I told her when she appeared. Everyone nodded their understanding.

"Yes, of course. It was good meeting you all," she called over her shoulder as she flew out the door.

We drove in silence, the entire trip back to Montana. Somewhere around the state line, Esme slipped her hand in mine, and I rubbed the back of it with my thumb absently as I continued to think.

I supposed there was a chance that Eleazar was right, after all. Edward may have changed his mind after leaving, and headed to Italy- though I couldn't imagine him making such a journey on his own, even if he wanted to. But then, a week ago I wouldn't have imagine him killing people, either. Was it wrong of me to hope that he was _just_ killing people? That he was at least free, and not kneeling under the weight of a cloak as his new master looked on approvingly?

I didn't really believe that. Edward had specifically said that he wanted to be on his own, and he had given me his word that he wouldn't go to Aro. I just hoped that Edward's word still meant something.

.

.

.

Esme's weeping began again when we pulled up to the empty house; we didn't need to smell the air to know that he wasn't here. The note was still fluttering on the door.

She didn't weep long this time. She took the note off the door, and placed it reverently on one of the endtables by the couch, ready to be used the next time we went out together. "He'll come back," she said firmly.

"He'll come back," I echoed. What else could I say? To give up completely was not an option.

It became our motto, in the weeks that followed. _He'll come back._ I didn't bring up my suspicion again, and neither did Esme. We both spent a lot of time in the yard, at the windows, in Edward's room… waiting. Watching the woods and waiting. Even when we stopped saying our motto, even after we stopped hanging the note on the door, we still waited.

We would wait forever, if we had to.

* * *

**So sad :( **

**A couple of notes here: I realize the terms "substance abuse" and "relative morality" may be a little anachronistic, but they were so accurate in this case that I couldn't think of good substitutes. Also, I want to point out that though he is quick to find fault with himself, I am trying to distinguish a major difference between Carlisle and Edward here: Carlisle doesn't brood, at least never for long. He will mourn Edward's departure deeply (after the shock has worn off), and I do think that until Edward's return he will feel, in a way, like he has failed as a father. But he will never lose hope, and he's not depressed. He has Esme, his patients, and his faith, both in God and in the innate goodness of Edward's soul. So while he is incomplete until Edward's return in '31, he's not broken. **

**I hope you enjoyed (in a sad, sweet way) this peek into Carlisle's side of things. Please review if you have time, and remember this is the place to request Tale of Years Outtakes! I have heard some great ideas already, and hope to get to them all eventually.**


	8. 1931: Complete (1 of 2)

**So here is Carlisle's POV of Edward's return; this corresponds to 1931, Chapters 8-11. I want this to demonstrate how much Edward missed in these events, despite his ability to read Carlisle's mind. It's a bit tricky though: my whole point is that Edward can't see Carlisle's emotions here, but of course I had to write them out in words- so just assume that the EPOV version in the real story is what Edward is perceiving, as opposed to the extra insight we get here. **

* * *

**Carlisle POV**

"And what did she say to that?"

Esme threw back her head and laughed, a sound like sparkling wind chimes that always warmed my heart. "She said that since her doll liked the dress I had made so well, that I needed to get busy making a hat and gloves to match!"

I laughed along with her, running my fingers through her hair with my right hand while I drove with my left. She was so beautiful, and so carefree, when she talked about the children at the hospital. Her life had truly opened up in the past couple of years, and she now found joy in spending time with humans, as I did. Neither of us had the luxury of associating with the local humans anymore, but she didn't mind the commute. In the beginning, she had only gone in on the days when I worked; she had been too timid to make the drive herself. But as she had gotten more comfortable with her new human friends- especially the children- she had grown more bold. Sometimes she even made the drive on her own, now. I still preferred to run, when I went alone, but women's attire, not to mention hairstyles, didn't stand up so well to that.

But tonight there was a fundraiser, to raise money for the Children's Ward at Jordan General Hospital. Esme had signed up to bring four dozen cookies, and we would be making the run together. I wasn't quite sure how I had gotten roped into this one; not only had I agreed to help Esme _bake_ the disgusting things, but then I had to carry them on the three-hundred mile run to the hospital. If we had gotten home earlier, we could have driven. But Esme and I had lost track of time out in the woods this morning, and morning had turned into afternoon. We had just dashed to the grocery store and, if we could bake fast enough, we might get there in time to be fashionably late to the fundraiser.

These busier days were the best. And sometimes, on days like this, and when Esme was happy like this, I was able to pretend that everything was all right, and that our family wasn't torn in half.

But it was. And too often, there were days, and nights, where we deeply felt the emptiness that our son had left behind. Last night had been particularly difficult. A tall, thin seventeen-year-old boy had come into the Emergency Room with a severe asthma attack. He had green eyes and bronze-colored hair, and as his mother pulled him into the treatment room, I had stood frozen as I watched him struggle to breath. Memories from 1918 had assaulted me, and when Esme had come to meet me at the end of my shift, she had taken one look at my eyes and suggested that we not go home this morning. We had gone to the woods instead, and that was why she was still dressed in her crumpled candy striper uniform, and why my bag was still down by her feet, next to the groceries. We had gone more than twenty-four hours without being home.

We would never have done this in the beginning. Esme hadn't wanted to leave the house for months, and whenever we did go hunting, she faithfully tacked up the note for Edward. That note, and our hopes for his quick return, had eventually been destroyed by time. We still had hope, but it was a fool's hope. Wherever my son was, coming home was probably the last thing on his mind.

I still pictured him with his golden eyes, though I knew the truth. Sometimes I wondered if he had found any friends to run with. I wondered if he ever played the piano anywhere. I wondered if he was happy; I hoped he was. But on nights like last night, I worried. I worried that Eleazar was right- that my son had gone to Aro. I worried that he had wandered too far South, and gotten himself swept up in the Wars. I worried that he had run into a hostile coven and had been…

_Stop it_, I ordered myself. _He's alive, and he's free. __He has to be._

I glanced over at Esme again, breathing in her scent and drinking in the sight of her smile. It had, ironically, been her accident which had brought about this new growth. She had gone hunting alone that day; something she normally didn't do. And when she had come home that night, the front of her dress covered in human blood and her eyes red, I had comforted her the best I could. In the days that had followed, she had determined that like me, she wanted to learn to be around humans, so that she could keep them safe from herself.

And now, two years later, she had found so much purpose in helping out in the Children's Ward. And her ruse was a simple one; she often reminded the nurses how squeamish she was around blood. So whenever blood was likely to be exposed, they kindly let her know ahead of time, and she left the area. It rarely came up anyway, since she was usually there at night. I was so proud of my Esme, and I was so relieved that she had found something like this.

But I knew that we would need to move on, and soon. We had already stayed far too long. We had gotten the groceries in another town today , and we were careful never to answer the door. But the risk went up every day, and we would need to find a way to leave some sort of permanent message for Edward to find, should he ever check back here. But no matter how many times we moved, and no matter how many centuries passed, I would have hope. I simply didn't have any other choice; vampires are unchanging in these matters. We would always be incomplete without our son.

"Carlisle?"

I smiled back at her, nodding. "Well, it's a good thing you're a vampire, darling. I doubt a human would be able to make gloves for a doll that tiny!"

She laughed again, wondering aloud if she should also make a little handbag. I pulled up to the house, and she gathered up the groceries.

"Do I really have to?" I teased, eyeing the cookie ingredients with distaste.

"Yes, you do," she laughed. "Besides, it's your fault that we lost track of time this afternoon."

"True, true," I sighed, picking up my doctor's bag. I opened the door and started toward the house-

Edward.

I sniffed again, drawing deeply on the air this time. There was no doubt about it! My heart exploded with hope as I looked around wildly. Where was he?! "Edward?"

Esme had frozen, as well, her nose in the air. She broke into a run, making a beeline for the house.

"Here."

I spun around, and I would have sworn I felt my dead heart stir again as I saw _my son_ step out of the shadows. Esme reached him first, and he flinched away from her embrace. He looked _awful_. He was barefoot, and his clothes were frayed and torn. His hair was a tangled mass, his eyes downcast, and he flinched again as I drew near. This was not the same young man that had struck off on his own four years ago.

He finally looked up, and Esme gasped in shock. I didn't need to see his eyes to know why. But as I ran up, I still faltered in my mental greeting, when I saw them; they were a sickly-looking orange, and he looked afraid.

Esme recovered herself quickly. "Well, it doesn't matter," she said firmly. "The important thing is that you're here! Come inside and tell us everything you've been… up to." Her voice trailed off, and Edward flinched again as she looped her arm through his. He allowed it, though, and let her pull him toward the house. I couldn't resist, either; I had to touch him, to know that he was real. I laid my hand on his back, silently urging him along. When Esme unlocked the front door, he sucked in a breath and moved backwards, looking skittish again. I kept my hand firmly pressed against his back.

"Come on, son," I said quietly, rejoicing as I savored the words. His orange gaze jerked back to me when I spoke. He glanced back toward the yard again, and I began to panic. What if this was just a visit, and not a homecoming? _We have a lot to talk about, but for Esme's sake please join us, at least for a while._

He swallowed and turned, stepping over the threshold with a sad smile. He flipped on the lights, his eyes moving immediately to his piano. His face took on a starved, hopeful look as his fingers twitched towards it.

Esme saw her chance. "Would you, Edward, for me? I tuned it myself earlier this year." When he hesitated, she gave him a little push. "Just one song, my song?" she pleaded.

Edward gave in, and sat down to the piano, running his fingers gently over the keys. And as soon as the first note sounded, I took a deep breath, resisting the urge to crush him in my arms. The living room was filled with his music, and the house with his scent. I laid one hand on his shoulder, and one on Esme's, and it was all I could do not to weep as I thanked God, over and over, for bringing our son home. The details didn't matter right now.

The song ended too soon, and then he stood, looking uncertain again. I was uncertain as well; what could I say to put him at ease? But Esme knew best, as usual.

"As beautiful as ever," she told him, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, I've missed your music! I've missed _you_." Before he could pull away, she darted in and kissed him on the cheek. Instead of flinching this time, he pulled her into a crushing hug, taking deep gulps of her scent.

"I've missed you too, Mom," he whispered, his face still buried in her hair. I ached to hold him, as well, but I didn't know how he would take it. The color of his eyes told me that he had, at least temporarily, been hunting animals. But I didn't know anything, beyond that. He was certainly not at peace; that much was sure. As happy as I was, I felt like I was waiting for the hammer to fall.

Sure enough, as he pulled away from Esme, his face was painfully devoid of expression. Esme's smile began to fade as whatever mental conversation they were having took a turn for the worse. He swallowed as he held her gaze, and pain filled his eyes suddenly. I had to do something!

"Esme?" I said quickly. They both broke their concentration and looked at me. "We need to leave in about an hour," I continued. "Why don't you get the cookies started… I'd like to show Edward something."

She frowned at me, surely wondering why I was bothering to go ahead with our plans. But she glanced back at Edward again, telling him something silently before she turned to go to the kitchen. We both watched her as she left, and Edward turned to me with a ghost of his old smirk on his face.

"_Cookies_?" he asked.

I nodded, still looking proudly after her. "She's grown quite a bit since you left. She's begun volunteering at the hospital, and forming friendships with some of the nurses and long-term patients. Last year she dusted off her cookbook, and she's been at it ever since. Tonight the children's ward is having a bake sale to raise money for new beds."

Edward's smirk faded as I spoke, and he looked toward the kitchen, obviously impressed.

"Walk with me, son," I said as I motioned toward the patio door. I still didn't know what to say to him, or even what to think. All I knew was that I had to keep him here, and help him. As we walked, I mentally reviewed the past half hour, trying to show him how relieved I was to have him here. We sat together on the bench at the back of the yard, and Edward waited in silence for me to speak. He looked so _lost_.

"Edward, how long have you been back on the animal diet?" I asked hopefully. He stopped breathing, and I finally saw the guilt I had been looking for.

"You knew?" he whispered. He seemed to shrink in on himself, and he was once again the seventeen-year-old I had brought into this life. He needed a father to guide him, to anchor him; he always would. Pretending that he hadn't spent the past four years on the wrong path wasn't going to help either of us. I looked away, unable to watch as the time for his confession neared. I hated to see him cowed like this, but I had to be sure of what his intentions were. If my dream were to come true- our family restored- I needed to know where he stood. _I ask again, how long?_

"Two months," he answered timidly.

"Humans, the rest of the time?"

"Yes."

I had thought I was prepared for this moment, the moment of his confession. I thought I had gotten used to the idea of what he had chosen to do. But as image after image flashed before my eyes, my heart broke anew, not only for his victims, but for my son, and for the eternal scars that he had inflicted on himself. How deeply had he descended? I closed my eyes in anguish as the images became even darker: Edward breaking windows, stealing into children's bedrooms at night.

"No!" he interrupted. "Never. Only criminals, the worst ones, and only when I was sure."

I suddenly felt very old, and very tired. Was he still trying to justify his actions? Was he not truly repentant, not even now? "They were _people_, Edward."

"Carlisle, I-"

"Look over there, son." I nodded over toward the brightly illuminated kitchen, where we could see Esme going about her business, looking for all the world like a human housewife. Couldn't he see that this was the best way to live? Couldn't he see that this was what he had left behind, what was waiting for him?

"Edward, when you left… she was heartbroken. She couldn't understand why you would leave just when our coven was truly becoming a family_." __I couldn't understand._" I want you to stay. Even if you decide not to, you will always be my son. But if you're going to be a part of this family again, I need to know you are serious about your intentions. I cannot allow you to stay, and to continue living like you have. It will tear us apart. All of us," I added, nodding significantly toward Esme again. I took a deep breath. "Edward, are you truly ready to commit to this lifestyle again?"

He swallowed, but he didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir."

I wanted to jump up and shout for joy! But I still had to know. "And… will you stay?" I asked, looking away and holding my breath as I waited.

Silence.

I didn't dare look at him; I was too afraid of what I would find. _We can help you. Please say yes, son… at least try._

More silence, and my heart began to sink. _Please…_

"Carlisle, do you _want_ me back?"

I jerked my head back toward him, to find him staring at me angrily. What kind of a question was that? "You know I do."

"I can't see why you would," he said disgustedly, lurching to his feet. I jumped up beside him, but I didn't think he even saw me; he was frozen like a statue as he stared through the kitchen window, at his mother. His fists clenched tighter and tighter as his face changed. I had seen that look once before… right before he left. His right foot inched toward the woods, and I began to panic again. I threw memory after memory at him- every time I could think of that might remind him how much it meant to be a family. Every time I could remember him being happy, or at least content. If only I could make him remember!

It worked. As I showed him the memories faster and faster, his hands clenched even tighter, but his resolve seemed to waver, just slightly. I finally reached out and touched his shoulder, bringing him back to the present.

"How could I want anything else? Edward, our family isn't complete without you. I can't condone what you did, but I've already forgiven you, and I know she will as well. Our love for you isn't conditional on your behavior! You will always be our son, no matter where you are. But won't you stay?"

I couldn't hold back any longer. I grabbed him and pulled him close, my hands trembling with love and fear as I held my son, my best friend, my Edward. _I love you, son… how can I make you understand that? _I felt him relax under my grip, and his hands slowly moved up to return my embrace. Another moment, and I felt him nod against me. I smiled as my heart finally exploded in pure joy. He was staying!

"I'm sorry," he whispered into my shoulder. "After everything you taught me…"

"Ssh, Edward, sshhh…" I held him even more tightly, rubbing his head like I would a child. Suddenly, he pulled away from me.

"Esme doesn't know," he said flatly.

"No. I suspected from the beginning what you had chosen to do, but she would never believe it. I'll let you tell her, when you're ready." _She'll forgive you._

He nodded, looking back to the house again. He sighed, but squared his shoulders and began to walk in; he wanted to get it over with. And I had a feeling this was something that he needed to do on his own. I headed into the woods, sending him my mental assurance of his privacy. I ran until I was well out of his range, and then I fell to my knees.

"Thank you, God," I cried over and over. "My family is whole again. My son, my son is home!"


	9. 1931: Complete (2 of 2)

**This one's for Zveka :)**

* * *

**Carlisle POV**

I gave them about an hour, and then eagerly returned to the house, to my _family_. I savored the word as I ran. Our little family might not be perfect, but at least we were complete again. The next few months would be difficult. Edward was a young man who felt things very deeply, and who was very, very hard on himself. And two months really wasn't that long; he still had a long road ahead of him, just in terms of his diet.

And judging from our conversation earlier, he wasn't fully repentant yet. Did he still believe in all those lies he had convinced himself of before he had left? What should my role be, as he processed what he had done over the past four years? Did I need to repeat the things I had taught him as a newborn? Surely he wasn't capable of forgetting, though. Or should I keep my peace, allowing him to come to his own conclusions? It was my silence, in part, that had led to this mess. How could I assure him of my forgiveness, while still making it clear that what he had done was murder, and was completely unacceptable? But what if I said too much, and drove him away again? I knew all too well what it was like to live under the shadow of a father whose righteousness meant more to him than his own son. I had to be careful.

But as I neared the house, every plan, every thought fell away as I saw Edward and Esme in the living room: she was seated on the couch, and he was on the floor, crying with his face in her lap. I tore open the patio door, running to them and kneeling as I wrapped my arm around Edward's trembling shoulders. He just wept harder then, and curled up against me in his anguish.

"What happened?" I asked Esme over his head.

"I don't know," she said fearfully, combing her hand through his tangled, dirty hair. "All I did was tell him about my accident, and that we all make mistakes. And then he told me that he had never made a mistake, that he had killed humans on purpose, and then he lost it. I told him over and over that I forgive him, but I don't think he can hear me."

This was it, then: his repentance had already come. It seemed that although he had already felt sorry for hurting us, it wasn't until now that he truly realized what he had actually _done_. I was glad that this moment was coming so soon, and that I didn't need to help bring it about. But my heart ached to see him suffering so, and I wished that he could cry real tears, just so I could wipe them away. In this moment, Edward was not a man, or even an adolescent; he was my little boy, and a part of me was grateful for the chance to hold him in this tender way. I had never done so before, and I hoped I would never have reason to again. I pulled him even closer, and his sobs shook both of us, until they became my own.

As I held him, he began to whisper names. Charles. Mickey. Mario... They were all men's names, and I stopped counting after the first hundred: it seemed he was confessing each murder separately. Occasionally, instead of a name, he described the man, or described where he had met him. He spoke the names faster and faster, his breath catching in gasping sobs every time he ran out of air. The last name he uttered was Jimmy, and if it were possible, he looked even more distressed after that. He began to weep in earnest again, digging his face harder into my chest. I wept with him again after that, and so did Esme. It went on for hours. We tried to comfort him a few times, but it always seemed to make him feel worse. All we could do was hold him, and grieve with him.

When the sun rose, and the first rays burst into the living room, he stopped suddenly. He pulled away from me and sat up, looking dully first at Esme, and then at me. If he were human, his eyes would be red and swollen and his voice hoarse. But he spoke naturally, as though continuing a conversation. He was concerned about the _fundraiser_, of all things. I explained our situation here in Montana, and when I foolishly let him see my memory of Harry's suspicions, his eyes narrowed.

"Where does he live?" he asked coldly. But before I could wonder what his intentions were, he laughed. "No, Esme. I merely intend to listen, and make sure there's no real threat."

The sound of his laugh was healing to all of us, and we quickly made our plans: we would move to Rochester, New York, this very weekend. Esme and I decided to go back to the hospital immediately. I would spend the day driving around, giving my week's notice at the various hospitals and offices that I was on call for. Esme would spend her day with the children, no doubt bidding them a bittersweet farewell. But as she headed for the front door, she was practically skipping.

I met Edward's amused smile with my own. _This is the happiest she's been in years._ His smile faded, but he nodded his understanding.

"You'll be all right here?" I asked as I paused at the front door.

He nodded again. "There are some things I need to do… beginning with a very long shower." I laughed along with him, though it pained me to think what his living conditions had been while he had been away. I put it from my mind and headed out the door.

.

.

.

I was so happy that _I _was practically skipping as I made my rounds. I knew that I had better come up with an exciting reason for my departure, to explain both the suddenness and my obvious change in mood. I hadn't been depressed, exactly, and while there had been many difficult moments, I wasn't a brooder like my son. I was a man of action, and I received heartfelt congratulations from my colleagues regarding my new teaching position at a medical school in New England; I was so excited that I conveniently forgot to tell anyone exactly where I was heading.

In reality, of course, I would be starting over as a young doctor, fresh out of my residencies. It was the same every time: new hospital for me, new school for Edward. But things would be different this time. For one thing, I thought that sending Edward back to high school was not the wisest choice. He had been painfully bored here, and that had no doubt contributed to his downfall in '27. I would see if he would like to consider going to a college this time, perhaps the University of Rochester. It was rather amusing, considering that he had never actually graduated high school, for all his attempts.

It wasn't that I wanted to reward his behavior in any way. This was therapeutic; he needed new challenges, and a new type of environment. And if I had learned anything from his journals, it was that I needed to treat him as more of an adult. But he would have to earn that last privilege, starting now. I _was_ proud of his return, and even more proud of his repentance; both of these decisions bespoke his maturity. But in some ways, he would always be an adolescent, and to ignore that fact would be equally as destructive. One thing was certain, though: Edward and I needed to communicate more. I knew this was easier said than done, because he _was_ seventeen. He would always feel that pull toward independence, wrestling against his grudging need for our guidance and comfort. And it would be difficult for me, because of the way things had been between my own father and me. It didn't help that I had been alone for so long. I would try, though, starting with the college issue. Another touchy subject would be his reintegration into human society. I didn't know if his last kill had been an accident or not, but he would need to be careful for a while. Would he accept my help this time?

.

.

.

When Esme and I returned home, I was about to burst with all the things I had planned to say. And so when I headed up the stairs, and saw Edward sitting in his room, writing in his _journal_, I feared the worst. Had nothing changed?

"No, that's not it at all," he murmured, motioning me into the room. I relaxed as I took in his appearance: he was cleaned up, with fresh clothes and shoes, and his hair was tamed. Esme entered the room as well, running her fingers through his hair. He turned in his chair and laid his hand over hers, still on his head.

"About that," he said to her with a grin. "I thought that you might like to give me a haircut tonight. You know, new life, new look." I personally hated the idea; I had always rather envied my son his wild, "energetic" hairstyle. But this was between mother and son; and if changing his appearance would help him with his resolutions, I was all for that.

But she shook her head, letting her fingers trail through his hair again as she touched his forehead. "This is the face I waited to see for four years," she said tenderly. "Don't ask me to change it now."

He watched her thoughts for a moment, and then nodded before turning to me. "I'll explain in a few days, before we leave," he told me, tapping the journal. "This is just something I need to do, before we move on… together."

"All right, son," I said in relief. As long as I had his promise, I would let him have this. Esme and I walked out, and I began pulling the door shut behind me.

"No, leave it open," he murmured. "I think we've had enough of that."

.

.

.

Esme and I spent the rest of the week getting the house ready, and I had arranged for the movers to come Saturday afternoon, after we had left. A piano mover would also be coming tomorrow; we were moving cross-country, and Edward had agreed to donate his piano to a local school. It might have been more convenient for the movers to come earlier, so that we could supervise them, but it wasn't worth the risk. Despite my resolution to talk with Edward more, we had barely spoken to each other all week. But it wasn't anything like before: even though he was journaling furiously, his door was always open. He took frequent breaks to play the piano, and Esme and I often stood behind him as we had done on Sunday night.

I ended up being called in on Friday to cover for another physician who had gotten sick. Esme went with me one last time, and as we returned home the next morning, I recalled Edward's promise to explain himself before we left, and we were leaving tomorrow morning. And we really did need to discuss his sensitivity to humans, before we left. If things were as bad as I suspected, we would need to be careful in our travels.

Perhaps I should see if he'd be interested in a little father-son hunt now; his eyes were already much darker than they had been two days ago. He had been so quiet this week; maybe if we were out in the woods alone together, it would be easier for both of us.

We walked in the front door to find him leaning casually against the banister, a satchel slung over his shoulder. "What are you waiting for?" he teased. "Our luncheon reservation is for eleven."

_I had forgotten how handy your gift is when I'm trying to plan something. _I turned to Esme, my heart light. "If it's all right with you, dear, I think I'll take Edward on a hunt while you finish packing up."

She nodded, and pulled my shoulder down to kiss me goodbye. It warmed my heart to see her so happy again. I tossed my lab coat, stethoscope and bag into the coat closet, and Edward and I took off at a run. He ran at my pace, though he took a few extra loops around me, grinning mischievously. He looked so relaxed, and I was soon laughing along with him as we ran.

.

.

.

After we had fed, I finally decided it was time. Edward never carried anything when he hunted, and so I knew the satchel carried something of meaning.

"Don't tell me you brought your own silverware," I said lightly, nodding toward the satchel.

"No, it's a gift for you. I thought it was a good time, since we were alone." His face was instantly serious again, and I nodded, inviting him to join me up on the boulder under which we had buried our kills. He sat down and pulled five leather volumes out of the bag. One was dirty, and the other four were crisp and new.

His journals.

_You don't have to do this_, I protested.

"Yes, I do," he said softly. "I need you to understand… I need you to know what happened. What I did, and how I got there. Carlisle, I'm grateful that you and Esme have accepted me back. But before I move on with you, we need to be fully honest with each other. I do covet your forgiveness, but until you know everything… well, I just want you to know everything."

Well, this was unexpected. I nodded and picked up the dirty one- 1927, no doubt. I read as quickly as possible, finding what I had expected to find- that Edward's blood scent addiction had indeed driven him to leave us. When I saw that Charles Evenson had been his first victim, I forced myself to read even faster; this was no time to celebrate the fact that Esme and I had benefitted from our son's downfall. I read faster and faster, in an effort to keep myself from feeling. I knew that if I slowed down or stopped, I would be crushed by both sorrow and yes, disappointment in my son. He was quite thorough in his reports- both in terms of the murders, but also in places he had visited, things he had done.

It looked like his time away had been one effort after another to keep his mind filed with noise, so that he wouldn't have to deal with the guilt that was hounding him the entire time. I read through 1928, and then the others, as quickly and as numbly as I could. I was relieved, in the end, to see that Edward had arrived at the same conclusion that I had, about the addiction; at least I didn't need to go through that with him. The final page contained a particularly raw sample of his usual self-flagellation; knowing my son as I did, I supposed I shouldn't have expected anything else. At least he had ended today's entry on a lighter note: his relief at our forgiveness and his anticipation of our journey east.

As soon as I closed the volume, the grief caught up with me. Nearly a thousand men had died at my son's hand. I was, of course, relieved at his choice to kill humanely, and at his choice to kill only male criminals. But that didn't make any of this right, and it did nothing to quell the shame that I felt. Edward was no monster, but what he had done was indeed monstrous; and as his creator, I had some responsibility in that. I also felt ashamed of my failure to _prevent_ this disaster. But in all fairness, I had tried; not enough, but I had tried. I had given Edward every chance to confide in me, and he hadn't done it. And look where it had gotten him! I wanted to gather my son in my arms, and weep with him again. But that time was past.

"If you had come to me," I began in a quavering voice, "if you had only come to me, I would have listened. We could have figured this out together."

He just swallowed, tracing invisible lines in the rock with his finger.

"It seems you have come full circle in your conclusions," I continued in a stronger voice, "and that you are determined to avoid returning to that life forever. Am I right?"

"Yes. It will never happen again," he answered easily, and I clenched my teeth in exasperation at this familiar display. Just like that, he had swung from self-hatred to arrogance, without warning. How he managed to do this, I had never been able to understand.

"How can you know that?!" I demanded. He flinched, and I forced my voice back into gentleness. But I couldn't back down here; he needed to understand this. "Forgive me. I see that you realize how wrong it was, and I understand the safeguards you intend to keep in place. What I mean is, how do I know that the next time you find life challenging, you won't just do this again? Retreat into yourself, refusing all help and wallowing in your introspection until the whole world is skewed in your eyes. That is _not_ the way to deal with hardship, Edward." _How many have paid for your stubbornness? __With their lives?_

He swallowed again, and lowered his eyes in shame. "You're right," he admitted. "Instead of coming to you and Esme with my doubts, I took everything upon myself, and it crushed me. I promise you that I will not make that mistake again, either. You and Esme were right when you said I would never be emotionally mature. I understand now that I need your guidance in my life. I mean, if you still want me, now that you've-"

I smiled sadly; of course he had taken my rebuke too far. And I supposed it was time for my own confession. "You had my forgiveness before you ever decided to return to us, Edward. I knew what you were up to not long after you left. I confess that I did read your other journals, and your final entries from 1926 were enough to show me where you were headed. No, our love for you is unchanged. I can only repent for my part in your… failures." I winced as that last word escaped my lips. I didn't want to hurt him anymore, but this was my duty as his father. He _had_ to understand where I stood on this.

"_Your_ part?" he asked incredulously.

"I should have insisted that you talk to me. If I had been attentive enough, I would have seen earlier how unhappy you were. In the end, I recognized that you were losing control over your thirst, but I was afraid if I pushed too hard, that you would shut me out completely. I told myself that you were behaving as a normal adolescent, but I see now that it was more than that."

"I'm not so sure," he said disgustedly. "Looking back, I am ashamed at my own petulance. I was more – no, I _am_ more like my human peers than I care to admit. The worst part was that I had no excuse; I knew from your thoughts that you only wanted to help. I suppose that's why I stayed as long as I did."

I could understand that. And I understood, now more than ever, that we would always be wrangling with his adolescence; it was never going to fully leave him, no matter how much he learned, no matter how much he grew. He would always struggle with his identity as both a boy and a man. He would always be impulsive, and, like most young men his age, arrogant at times. This last would at least be tempered by his sensitivity and by his seriousness; I supposed that was a blessing, though Edward himself would always be the one to suffer from the struggle between these qualities. And as much as I hated to think it in front of him, his behavior had really just been the vampire version of the typical adolescent rebellion.

He sighed when he heard this. "It's a good thing I'll be in high school forever," he said ruefully.

I smiled; it was the perfect opening for the happier end of this conversation. "Well, that's another thing I regret, actually. I believe that your boredom was one of the catalysts for your rebellion. How would you feel about attending university when we reach New York?"

He sat up straighter, and as a huge grin broke across his face, I felt cleansed; I hadn't seen that smile in _years_. "You mean it?" he asked eagerly.

I nodded. "Edward, in some ways you really will be seventeen forever. Neither of us can deny that fact. But you have already showed remarkable maturity in your choice to return to the animal diet, and in your willingness to join our family again." He opened his mouth in protest, but I silenced him with a hand in the air between us. "I know. In some ways you were driven to return, and to repent; and we will never know how altruistic you would be without your mental abilities. Perhaps they are God's way of keeping you honest."

I waited for the smirk and the beginning of our old debate, but it didn't come. Interesting.

"I'd love to try going to college, if you truly think I'm ready."

"I do. Let's wait until the fall semester, though. By then you should have a good level of control again." He nodded, and jumped down off the rock, putting the journals away. I hoped I would never have the opportunity- or the need- to read them again. And I was even more thankful, now that the matter was resolved, that I hadn't shown them to Esme. I knew that earlier this week, Edward had briefly whispered an account of his actions to her, but I knew that both of them wanted that to be the end of it.

_Let's keep the journals between us. __You know Esme would forgive you anyway, and there's no need to hurt her further._

He nodded, looking down again. "Carlisle, was it… was it very hard for her?"

I tried not to let him see, but I was out of practice. My mind instantly returned to the hundreds of times I had found Esme sitting in Edward's room, weeping for her lost son. I clamped my mind against the flow of memories, but by the pain in Edward's eyes, I knew I was too late.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I never meant to hurt her like that."

I just stared at him. Did he truly think Esme was the only one who loved him? That _I _ hadn't been devastated when he had left so abruptly? _You hurt us both, son. But it's over now._

He looked up in shame again, and so I repeated to him, over and over, that I loved him, that Esme was happy again. That everything was all right.

"I think all this cogitation has given me an appetite," I announced. "Why don't we see if we can't find something better than elk? It's our final hunt in Montana, after all. Let's make it memorable." I gave him a wink and took off running. As he blew past me, I smiled to hear his playful growl. The worst was over, it seemed.

.

.

.

We were relieved to each find a grizzly; it might be our last taste of that particular meal for a long time. We were taking our time, strolling back to the house as we discussed the plans for our departure tomorrow. In his attempts to finish the journaling by this morning, Edward hadn't done much of his own packing yet.

"I thought I'd put the globe in with the towels," he was saying. "Do you want me to bring-"

I caught the faint scent of human blood a split second after he did: too late. He was already deep in a hunting crouch, a look of anguish and confusion on his face. There was no time to think; I just slammed right into him, knocking him off the path and into the trees. As we fell together, he was already fighting me, though his eyes were pleading for help.

"Stop, Edward!" I yelled, trying with all my might to hold him down. And for just an instant, I thought he was beginning to relax into my arms. But I watched in dismay as his eyes quickly darkened; it was as if the grizzly had never happened. I got my knee into his back and tried to push his face down fully into the dirt; I didn't have a hand free to cover his mouth and nose, but if I could cut off his air supply with the ground, he would be able to fight it. But I simply wasn't strong enough. As his eyes turned fully to black, his anguish twisted into feral rage and he roared his defeat, jerking his body into a backwards twist which sent me flying off.

I hit the ground running, but he was already too far. There was no way I could catch him. Still, I ran with all my might; I _knew_ he didn't want to do this. After all his efforts the past two months, too! And Esme was there- was she all right? What was a human doing at our house, anyway? There was no mistaking the direction that Edward was running in. I could barely see him anymore.

It was going to happen. Right in front of Esme! Why?! Why did this have to happen?!

I barely heard his plea, coming from so far in front of me: "Stop me!"

But what could I do? I kept running, racing through options. Edward knew to hold his breath, but he had already lost control over that instinct. But if he could still speak, maybe he could…

"My car!" I yelled in inspiration. "Get in my car!" Could he even hear me, or was he already feeding? After what seemed an eternity, I heard the door of my car slam shut, and I veered off toward the driveway, gasping in relief to see Edward sitting in the passenger seat, his head in his hands. I jerked open the driver's side door and slammed it behind me, while my right hand grabbed the keys from their hiding place. I jammed them in the ignition and threw the car in reverse, shoving the pedal to the floor. As we hit the highway, I finally looked over to Edward, whose eyes were still black as he gulped in the clean air inside the car. He finally let go of his hair, gripping the dashboard so hard that his fingers began to dig into the metal. He nodded over and over.

The car began to shake, and I shifted down to give the engine a break. _It's over now,_ I told him. _What HAPPENED back there?_

He dug his fingers deeper into the metal, and sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth. "The piano mover decided to come a day early. He dropped one end of it, and one of the feet scraped his leg on the way down."

"Is Esme all right?"

"Yes. He's almost got the bleeding stopped now." He took another deep breath, and forced his jaw to relax. But as the rage of his thirst cooled, his eyes began to dart back and forth in panic, and his all-too-familiar look of self-disgust appeared. Hadn't we just talked about this?

"Edward…" I said with a warning tone, "you're doing it again. Talk to me."

"I don't understand. When I hunted before – humans, I mean – it was never like that. I never lost control, not once."

I shrugged. "I think that it's to be expected, at least for a while. You're like a newborn right now. Only this time you know what it's like to indulge, and you've denied your appetite for two months now. Your last taste of human blood was recent enough that your instincts react naturally to the aroma, and it was long ago enough that your body feels starved for it."

"Well, that… makes sense," he admitted.

"Anyway, that's why I scheduled the movers to come tomorrow, after we left. I'm sorry, son- I should have scouted ahead before you got so close to home." _I'm so proud of you, though. __I can't imagine how difficult it was to stop._

He nodded his thanks, finally letting go of the dashboard.

"We'll get through this," I assured him. "It'll take some work and some care, but I still believe you'll be ready to attend university this fall."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know about that."

"Well, let's just take it one day at a time." _And anytime you are struggling, you WILL come to me._

"Agreed."

We continued to drive around for a half hour, each lost in our own thoughts. After a few minutes, Edward rolled down the window and leaned out slightly, the sun catching his beautiful face with a glittering brilliance. He closed his eyes, and for the first time this week, he truly looked like he was at peace.

I was at peace, as well. It was time to put Montana- and the wretchedness of the past four years- behind us. It was time to make a new beginning. And now our little family could make it together, because we were complete again.

I was complete.


	10. 1950: Arrival (1 of 2)

**Here it is! I'm so excited!**

****NOTE** You should _not_ read this outtake if you haven't read up through Chapter 5 of 1950. And this outtake does contain a spoiler for 1950, chapters 6 and 7... but it's okay to read it before them. I promise the spoiler doesn't give away too much, and it's actually more exciting this way!**

**Rachel asked to see some of Alice and Jasper's journey to the Cullens, and dkjkaden asked for an outtake with some early Alice/Jasper moments, so both are included here, the latter in flashback form. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Jasper POV**

We were lying in a meadow together, sparkling in the full sunlight. I was comfortably propped up against a sizeable rock, with Alice tucked under my right arm as she laid against me, her eyes closed. I was running my fingers through her hair while I drifted along with the nameless song she was humming. Her voice matched her appearance and her personality perfectly; she was a delicate soprano, with an ethereal lightness to her tone that never failed to calm me. Her music swirled around us, borne on the gentle breeze of our contentment. I inhaled deeply, breathed in her scent as the deeper parts of my consciousness breathed in her love. I exhaled slowly, showering her with my own love and tenderness, and she smiled in response, snuggling more deeply into my chest as she continued her song. This was heaven.

It had been nearly a year and a half since my life had been turned upside down. I had only ducked into that diner in Philadelphia to get out of the rain. I was just going inside to stay dry while I waited for my prey to come out into the open. When I saw him coming, I was going to slide out of my seat, make the kill, and then suffer the emotional consequences as soon as I had fed. It was the same as it had always been, and it was never going to get any better. Kill, feel, wait, thirst, kill. I was going to continue the cycle until my disgust finally overcame my preservation instinct, and then I was going to escape the wretched existence that I had been doomed to. I had been hoping that it wouldn't take too much longer.

But I hadn't known what, and who, was waiting for me inside that diner. _Alice_. I whispered her name reverently as I remembered, and I felt her love tinge with worry as she shifted her position, gazing up at me. Her song stopped. "Remembering again?" she teased.

"The day we met," I said softly, and I sighed in wonder as her happiness lit up the whole meadow. She rolled back to where she had been lying and picked up her song again.

It was three weeks after we had met, that she had sung for me for the first time. We hadn't even spoken for the first two days; we had just walked right through the rain out of Philadelphia and up into the mountains. It hadn't occurred to either of us to have any sort of ceremony, or even conversation; we had just gone and given ourselves to each other. When we came to our senses three days later, I told her that my name was Jasper.

"I know," she giggled.

Her odd response naturally led to a lot of questions on my part, and a lot of very confusing information on her part. She spent the better part of the next day telling me about her past, _my_ past, her visions, the Cullens, the animal diet, and our destiny, which apparently included this bizarre "family" that she had never even met. Needless to say, I was overwhelmed.

For one thing, I had just gone _six_ days without feeding. This was beyond impossible, and as my throat burst into flames at the realization, I felt rather awkward. It was obvious that Alice expected me to try this animal diet of hers, but for right now, I needed to feed, _immediately_, and I told her so.

"Of course you do," she said smoothly. "I'll help."

Help?

She led me deeper into the mountains, bringing me toward a scent that I probably never would have even noticed: the earthy scent of a coyote. "Go ahead," she urged, shoving me forward with a secretive smile. "And don't forget to kill it first; it's cleaner that way."

I just looked suspiciously at the coyote, inhaling again and wrinkling my nose at the thought of tasting its blood. What a peculiar idea! But I wanted to humor her, and so I ran up to the animal, grabbing it by its neck and giving it a death blow before biting.

_Ugh! _It was even worse than I had imagined. The taste brought up a vague memory of my human grandmother shaking her finger at me, telling me to eat my spinach. But Alice wasn't my grandmother, and from that first moment in the diner, my entire existence had belonged to her. I would do anything she asked, and so I drank until there was nothing left. I felt absolutely nothing during the experience, other than Alice's pride and my own revulsion at the taste and the fur. I finally dropped the dried-up coyote in disgust, and instinctively tensed myself against the emotional deluge that always came after feeding.

... Nothing.

Still nothing. Just love and pride, coming from less than a foot away.

I creaked my eyes open, to find Alice standing in front of me. "That's better, isn't it?" she whispered. She reached up and dusted the fur off of my mouth, and I nodded dumbly. It was _infinitely_ better. She let out a gasp as I grabbed her up in my arms, letting her feel the full force of my love and gratitude. This was a whole new world, and it was all because of her. She had set me free!

.

.

.

The weeks that followed hadn't been all sunshine and roses. I had still been afraid of being recognized by other vampires, even more so now that I had begun to value my life again, along with the life of my mate. I insisted that we withdraw even deeper into the wilderness, and she was willing; anything to get me farther away from the humans was good, she said. And by the second week of the new diet, I had begun having what Alice called withdrawal symptoms. I was plagued by headaches, emotional hallucinations, and tremors that were far worse than any I had dealt with before.

I thought, a few times, about giving up on animal blood, for Alice's sake. I hated the fact that the beginning of our life together was being ruined by my constant fantasizing about human blood, and by the withdrawal itself. I didn't want to go back to that life, but at least I would be able to offer Alice more of my attention. But every time I considered it, she knew. Her fear and disappointment made me feel sick, and I would resolve anew to offer her this gift that she wanted. My venom flowed constantly, and my throat was one huge flame that refused to go out. We hunted as often as my stomach could bear it, and _still_, the symptoms grew worse- especially the tremors. It got so bad by the third week that Alice just held me on the ground as I shook, and began to sing.

I was startled by the sound; I hadn't heard singing since I had been human, and even those memories had the distant, cloudy feel of childhood. My mother had died when I was small, and her deep, lilting lullabies had been the only thing I remembered about her, even as a human. So when Alice's high-pitched fairy voice suddenly pierced the flames inside my head, the tremors jerked to a stop. She sang for hours, and I held onto the sound like a lifeline, even as the tremors eventually returned. When she stopped abruptly, I spoke for the first time in days, my voice hoarse with venom.

"When is it going to get better?"

She didn't answer right away, but her sorrow said enough. She knew the answer, obviously, and it was bad.

"Just t-tell me," I demanded, my words shivering as another tremor rocked through me.

"Two months," she said sadly. "Do you want me to sing again?"

I nodded, and she began again. I laid my head back down on her lap, trying to imagine a tiny Alice-fairy dancing to her song, instead of the blood-drenched fantasies that my cravings insisted on. But I felt a spike of panic a few minutes later, and she let go of me. She stood up, backing away and keeping her eyes on the ground. She wasn't singing anymore, and her panic was quickly turning to sorrow.

"Alice, what-"

I smelled it then: the most wonderful, soothing scent in the world. I leapt up snarling, and the trees began to blur past me. The next thing I knew, I was rocketing through the heavens as I fed, and when I opened my eyes there was a dead man in my arms. Alice was standing a few feet away, saturated with pity as the man's dying emotions flooded through me. The two together were just too much, and I bowed my face to the ground, weeping hysterically as I begged her forgiveness.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, when I came to. I opened my eyes to find her arms wrapped around me, and her love quickly soothing the emotional pain away. The dead man still lay on the ground beside us, cold now.

Sorry?

"You knew," I said slowly, the realization dawning over me like a wave of nausea. "You knew this was going to happen. Why didn't you stop me?"

"I only knew for a few seconds," she said. "And it was better this way. Trust me."

I demanded to know how killing a human was _better_ than anything, but she had refused to tell me that day. We headed North after that, burying ourselves deep inside the emptiness of the Arctic Circle. Once the worst of the withdrawal symptoms were past, she finally told me the truth about that day.

"You would have attacked me, if I had tried to stop you," she admitted. "You would have torn my legs off. I would have been fine, but… it would have been worse, for you. And you would have killed him anyway."

"I would never have hurt you," I protested. "Never." Didn't she understand that yet?

"Yes, you would. I saw it."

I had no answer to that. And she was right; killing a human was much better than hurting her. I just hated the fact that she had actually seen me doing _both_.

There had been seven other accidents, since then. Once I was through the worst of the withdrawal, we began travelling to find better cover and better game, but that also meant more humans. And all seven times were the same: Alice saw it happening too late, and saw that trying to stop me would make things worse. So she just watched me kill, helped me through the aftershocks, and then she helped me clean up. She never once spoke her disappointment, and I could tell that she always tried not to even feel it. I loved her for that.

I also loved her for her visions- not only because they had brought us together, but because they had helped me avoid a grand total of eighty-two other accidents, besides the hundreds of humans I would have killed over the past year and a half if she hadn't come and set me free. So seven really was a pretty good casualty rate, in my new war against the deliciousness of humanity. I was fighting this new war for several good causes: for my own happiness, for Alice's happiness, for the human lives that we were saving, for our future. I was even doing it for the Cullens, and I cared even less about them than the _humans_. They were just characters in a story, for me; but I could see how Alice loved them, and I knew that they were my destiny, as well as hers. I would need to be worthy of them someday.

The last accident had been six weeks ago. I hadn't had any of the withdrawal symptoms this time, and my throat was on a low sizzle now, having fed on a black-tailed deer this morning. The burn never went away, and Alice couldn't tell me if it ever would. Her own throat was more comfortable, having only hunted humans consistently for a couple of years, if that. She hadn't suffered anything like I had, when she had stopped. She did admit that even after all these years, the animal diet still didn't satisfy like the real one. But she tried, for my sake, to feed more often than she really needed to, because her thirst always magnified my own. I never felt it reflect in my own throat, thankfully, but I had been around newborns enough to know what another vampire's thirst felt like, emotionally.

Maria had used me to do some experimentation with thirst, back in the 1880s. She wanted to determine what the optimal level of thirst was, for a newborn going into battle. The idea was that a soldier would be the most effective when the thirst was enough to enhance the battle fury, but not enough to distract from the mission. I was, naturally, the barometer in these experiments: we starved newborns of various ages, to determine what the emotional state was at each level of thirst. I suffered along with my subjects, of course; but when I begged Maria to take over the experiments herself, she had just reminded me that I was the only one who could conduct them effectively, and that my sacrifice was a small price to pay for victory. And so I had dutifully continued with my task, keeping myself well-fed even as I suffered the emotional escalation that the thirst in our subjects gave me.

It always began as a gnawing feeling of impatience, and depending on the vampire's age, it slowly or quickly grew into desire, and then anger, shifting eventually to rage. And we found, as expected, that madness was the eventual result of thirst, if it was denied too long. The emotional deterioration was always reversible, at least. My official report to Maria had been that our kind weren't lucky enough to go permanently insane. And even though I had suffered greatly throughout the experiments, I hadn't really minded it so much, after Maria had manipulated me into continuing them. My emotional habitat had been so negative anyway that anything that broke the monotony- and didn't involve more killing- was welcome.

But my emotional habitat now was just… _Alice_. We were never near anyone else, and so I never felt anyone else. I had reached the point in my new diet where I was able to drink animal blood without even making a face, though I still hated it. But we both knew that I was nowhere near ready to begin approaching human civilization. I had completely lost the ability to control myself now, but it didn't bother me much. I had no desire to see a human ever again. All I had now was Alice, Alice, Alice. Her tranquility, her love, her happiness, her desire for me, her amusement with the Cullens' antics… I just drank it in, day after day. Who needed anything else, when you had this?

Our plan, as of right now, was to wait a few more years. I knew that we would eventually be joining "our family", as she called them; she had seen it almost as soon as she had awoken to this life. But we both wanted to wait until my eyes were consistently golden- which they had never yet been- and until I had worked up at least some fledgling control around humans. It would be a while before the second condition could be met, and I was glad. I had Alice all to myself, and I liked it that way. I was more than happy to stretch out our time alone together. I would never go hunt a human on purpose now, but in all honesty, I had no intention of trying to relearn my control anytime soon: that would only bring us to the Cullens sooner. I was happy with the way things were, and if an occasional human paid the price for my contentment, then so be it. I took my due penance when it came, after each kill, but Alice had assured me that the worst of the withdrawal was over.

Today was a perfect example of why I didn't want to rush anything. We were miles from civilization, up somewhere in Northern Ontario. I wasn't afraid of running into any old enemies, this far North, and the likelihood of a human wandering up here, especially in April, was minimal. We were completely relaxed, and we had nothing whatsoever to do, except enjoy the sun and each other. If the Cullens were around, they would probably want to go do something human, or even _with_ the humans. From what I had gathered, Rosalie had a particular appetite for their society, though she never had any real human friends. It was most peculiar; perhaps there was something wrong with her.

But instead, we were alone, and content. Most of our days were like this now. I ran my fingers through Alice's hair again, sending her bursts of happiness in time with her song. I generally held Alice's emotions to be sacred and untouchable, but in times like this, I liked to enjoy a little harmless enhancement. She knew I was doing it, and she liked it. Of course, I affected her all the time, especially during times of intense emotion, good and bad. I tried my best to hold in the darker stuff, especially after my accidents, but I really wasn't very good at it. And instead of her sharing my burden, as she wanted to do, it only made it worse as our sorrow escalated itself, building off the emotional ricochet between us. Of course, the effect was the same with intensely positive emotions, so at least there was a balance. I emphasized the thought with an extra jolt of happiness, and she jerked in my arms, spinning around to kiss me.

"I wasn't sending you _that_," I laughed around her mouth. Oh, well…

But her kiss ended just as abruptly as it had begun. She gasped and pulled away, her eyes glazing over to stare at nothing. I released her, and waited for the vision to end. I knew from experience that trying to interrupt it would just agitate her further. And this one was important; these unplanned ones usually were. But instead of coming out of it, she jumped to her feet, her eyes still glazed over and darting back and forth in panic. The first wave of her distress finally hit me; a bad vision, then. I drew in a deep breath and held it, just in case it was about a nearby human, who had just changed his mind about which way to hike.

The visions continued. I could tell there was more than one, because as she paced around in a circle, she stumbled a few times, and gasped again occasionally, finally bringing her hand to her mouth and chewing on her thumbnail in concentration. Now I was feeling more distress, panic, and… despair?

_That_ wasn't good.

"Alice," I said impatiently. "Alice!"

She went another minute before turning to look at me. It was like she was miles away, even now that she had come back to the present. She opened her mouth, and then shut it, looking suddenly annoyed.

"_Jasper_," she said in a scolding voice.

"What?" Now what did I do? Or more accurately, what was I about to do? "Come on, darlin'," I sighed. "Just tell me what's going on."

She relaxed into my arms, her despair melting into worry. "It's Edward," she said.

"Again?" I growled. She just looked up at me with a look that said, _I told you so_.

"Sorry," I sighed. "It's just… can't he take care of himself?"

Alice spent an inordinate amount of time watching Edward's future, compared to the others. I knew it was because she had been watching him the longest, and because of his killing spree back in the late twenties. And his future tended to be the murkiest, and so I knew she checked on him a lot, but I couldn't help feeling… well, jealous, sometimes. He _was_ the unmated one. And it wasn't like Alice had ever _met_ another vampire besides me. I had a lot of romantic notions about the finality of our bond, but aside from Peter and Charlotte's example, I didn't actually know much about how this worked. There were the comforting examples in the Cullen family, but I hadn't actually met these people. I didn't know how much of Alice's interpretation of her visions was colored by her _own_ romantic notions.

"Apparently not," she huffed, her eyes glazing over again. "Of all the melodramatic, idiotic brothers in the world… oh!" Another vision hit her, a quick one this time, and when it was gone, she wasn't worried. She was _furious._

"I don't _believe_ this!" she fumed, beginning to pace again. "Jasper, we have to go. Now."

"Go where?" I asked in alarm.

"To the family! I'm sorry, Jasper, but I really need you to decide it right now. Please?"

I grabbed her hands, halting her pacing. "Stop it right there! You know I'm… you know we're nowhere near ready for that. We have our plan."

"I know, I _know_," she whined, breaking free to pace again. "It might make it worse, instead. Which is why I need us _both _to decide to do it, right now, so I can see. Please?"

"No." Not anytime soon, and certainly not for _Edward_. At least she had called him her brother again- that was comforting. And he had behaved himself in her visions, lately. But apparently, he had a history of throwing his own future for a loop, and for driving Alice crazy. And she had seen enough to guess that this instability was generally his own fault. I wasn't looking forward to being near his volatile emotions, not one bit.

"Jasper, he's our brother, and he needs us. He's going to leave again, and it's going to be worse this time!"

I clamped my mouth shut, to avoid saying the words _So what?_ That probably wasn't the right answer.

She heard it anyway, of course. "Look. I know you don't love them right now, but you will. I've seen it! Just trust me when I say we need to try this!"

"But-"

"Jasper, _please_!" She tackled me to the ground, sticking her pouting face right over mine. Her desperation, and worse- her trust, ate at me for a good five minutes, until I finally stood both of us up… and surrendered.

"Fine. We're going to find the Cullens, now," I decided aloud. And I meant it, too: she would know if I didn't. We were really going to do this. We would be at their house by this time next week.

She closed her eyes, standing frozen as she registered the changes in her visions. Finally, she heaved a sigh of relief and opened her eyes. "Thank you," she breathed, resting her forehead against my chest. "That's much better."

"Our going there now really is going to help?"

She chewed on her lip, glancing toward the Southeast. "Definitely."

"But my eyes aren't even ready!"

"I know," she said slowly. "I think that will help, actually. Edward will probably be worried enough to stay _because_ of that."

I snorted in disgust. "I would think meeting someone like me would send him off faster."

"No," she said firmly. "I know him. The only thing more important to him than his own drama is the safety of his family. Your eyes are _perfect_."

"I still don't understand. He was fine yesterday, wasn't he? What happened?"

She shook her head, annoyed. "I don't know. I try not to watch when he goes to play doctor. But something changed, something big."

"So, now what?" I asked.

She took a deep breath. "Now we run. We've got less than two days."


	11. 1950: Arrival (2 of 2)

**Here it is! This is Jasper's POV of the last leg of his and Alice's journey to the Cullens, the initial encounter with Carlisle, Esme and Rosalie, and ends when Edward and Emmett return home from hunting. But then you can go read Chapter 9 of 1950, which I am also posting right now. This covers Edward's POV of the same day, going much further into the afternoon. I hope you enjoy both sides of the story!**

* * *

**Jasper POV**

Alice had never bothered to try and divine the Cullens' address in New Hampshire, since we hadn't thought we would be joining them at this location. We were just lucky that we had been this close already. Still, we were running at Alice's top speed, only deviating from our course when Alice foresaw a human in our path. We stopped only once, so that I could feed. As we ran, she was watching Edward's every move, to try and figure out what had happened. Occasionally she would tell me what she had seen, though I was still confused. He had run out of some kind of medical room, which led to some kind of trouble with his human superiors, which led to some sort of fight at home, which led to his decision to leave, which if allowed to happen, would lead to a whole new series of disasters. It was like listening to one of those radio soap operas, except I had no idea what was going on.

Alice was also watching Carlisle and Esme intently for clues about our direction. She was finally rewarded when Carlisle picked up the next day's mail, flipping through the envelopes and showing her the address, which to Alice's surprise, was actually in Vermont. This still didn't tell us where to go, exactly, since neither of us had ever studied the geography of either state in detail. But it was enough for now.

When we crossed the border into New York, it was decided that I would stay hidden in the emptiness of the Moose River Plains while Alice doubled back to the highway. She had seen where to find a Welcome Center and would be able to get a detailed map of New England. I still had about ten dollars left from my last kill and gave everything to her, telling her to buy whatever else might be needed.

While she was gone I hunted again, trying to quiet my thirst as much as possible; we would be getting closer to human settlements soon. The journey had been difficult for me, but at least there hadn't been any accidents. We had been careful to come down on the western side of Ottawa, weaving in and out to avoid the small towns that dotted the land near the U.S. border.

I found a little creek to clean myself up in, washing my hair and combing through it as best I could. My clothes were in bad shape, though; the more I scrubbed them, the worse the tears and stains looked. I hadn't replaced my shirt in months, and our mad dash down here hadn't exactly helped. Neither of us had socks or shoes right now. They wore out so quickly, and we hadn't wanted to spend what little money we had on something so useless. At least I had been able to replace my pants with those worn by my prey six weeks ago. But now, as I looked at my reflection in the creek, I could only imagine what the Cullens were going to think of me. My hair was all right, thanks to Alice's constant attention, but my shirt was torn in three places, stained in several more places, and threadbare at my sides, where my arms brushed during running. I had pointed out that she was perfectly capable of stealing whatever we needed, but she liked to avoid that sort of thing. Besides, she hated leaving me alone for any reason, and I didn't much like being parted either. I peeled my shirt off, plunging it into the water and scrubbing it between my hands.

The worst part was my eye color. Now that I had hunted just minutes ago, they were a bright, disturbing orange-red. My struggles with the diet were as plain as day. And combined with my ragged shirt and my scars, my appearance didn't exactly inspire trust, now did it? And when they learned about my past, not to mention the offensive power of my gift… it was quite a lot to ask of them.

I scrubbed harder at my shirt, trying to at least get the worst blood stain out. The sun came out then and my bare arms began to glitter, the scars jutting out rudely against the brilliance. I blew out a breath of frustration, turning my arm as I inspected it. I had been sort of proud of my scars back in the day, even after I had grown sick of all the killing. And I was grateful for them now, since meeting Alice; we had been able to avoid contact with other vampires, but if we did, my battle-hardened appearance would serve as an effective warning.

But now, I tried to imagine what the Cullens were going to think of them. Especially Carlisle, who supposedly abhorred violence of every kind. And Edward, who would be picking my brain even _before _ I walked in the door. There were just so many strikes against me that I couldn't imagine them giving me the warm welcome that Alice was obviously anticipating. Her visions couldn't give her a read on their emotions- only I would be able to do that, and not until we arrived. And with so many decision-making minds in the mix, I didn't see how she could get any clear visions at all on their reaction later today. In her naiveté, she certainly had no idea how hard it must be for the Cullens to live in such proximity with each other. Why they chose to stay crammed in a house together was beyond me, but I imagined they had to work constantly at their fragile peace. After all, I loved Alice more than my own life, and yet we both knew how close I had come to attacking her during my accidents. And now we were going to suddenly introduce two new variables into a situation which was unnatural enough, to say nothing of the stressful events the Cullens had gone through in the past two days.

We would just have to do our best. I would, naturally, be sending out trust and peace as we approached the engagement. But I had no idea how perceptive Edward's gift would be in terms of the activity of my own gift, and how suspicious that might make him. I knew he considered himself the lookout for the family, and so I would have to be subtle with any emotional assistance I gave. I would have to be careful not to think incriminating things like _Good, now I've got them all trusting us._ I had been working half-heartedly on controlling my thoughts, in preparation. But it had just been a game, since I hadn't thought that we would be going so soon.

Alice had assured me, over and over, of the many good qualities that "our family" possessed, but I was still wary. Alice had never met another vampire besides myself, and she had no memory of her human life; she really didn't know anything about how to interact with… well, _anybody_. And her visions were always in bits and pieces, and they were often just silent pictures. She watched her "motion pictures" as often as she could, but I knew she wasn't getting everything. She felt sure that she knew them intimately, and could trust them; but really, how much of that was wishful thinking on her part? Were these people really as peaceable as she thought? Would Carlisle really allow a battle-hardened vampire to tread on his territory, and come anywhere near his mate? And what if Alice was underestimating Edward's ability? What if he was actually capable of mind control? What if Emmett wasn't really the gentle giant that Alice seemed to think he was? I had fought a vampire his size only once, and I had been _lucky_ to lose just an arm.

It wasn't that I didn't trust her visions; I trusted them implicitly. But she didn't actually have very many visions yet of us being with the Cullens. Just a few still shots, like the famous Family Portrait. I was also, frankly, repulsed and bewildered by their insistence on playing human. The younger ones went to school. And Carlisle was a _doctor_, of all things! Even if that was possible, which it didn't seem to be, what was the point of constantly patching up the humans? They were just going to die anyway. And why did they have to live in a house, and have so many useless possessions? Why did they have to live so close to the delicious humans?

I held up my shirt, scowling at it. I had scrubbed it so hard that it was even more threadbare than before. Maybe I could-

I sniffed the air, smiling and relaxing as I breathed in the fragrance of Alice's approach. A moment later, I felt her excitement growing closer. I needed to remember that this was the day Alice had been looking forward to for most of her second life: our arrival and acceptance into the family. And while she had been worrying over the Cullens as we ran, she was also getting excited, almost giddy, as we drew closer. As usual, her emotions were exactly what I needed. I inhaled deeply, letting her happiness wash through me as she came into view, carrying a paper sack.

"I knew you would be all right!" she said gaily. "And I got you a present!"

I pulled her into my arms and kissed the top of her hair, waiting as she pulled a light blue bundle out of the sack. She shook it out, revealing a long-sleeved, button-down shirt that said "New York" on one side. I grinned at the appropriateness of her gift.

"I guess you saw me mangling my old one?"

She just nodded, giving me a knowing smile. "And I thought long sleeves might be a good idea. For, you know, the first impression."

It took me a second to understand her meaning. "The scars?" I asked. She nodded again. "But I thought you wanted to make Edward a little uneasy. Wasn't that the point, to make him stay because he was worried about the new scary vampires?"

"Leave Edward to me," she sniffed. "I'm just trying to make our arrival as, mmm, relaxing as possible. Besides, Edward won't be there in the beginning. Come on, try it on!"

I gladly tossed my shirt into the brush, donning the new one. A perfect fit, of course. I hadn't worn a brand-new shirt since I was human. It was nice to feel the starchy fabric sliding over my chest. I felt downright _polished._

"They don't sell shoes in the Welcome Center," Alice continued. "Otherwise I would have stolen some."

I shook my head, buttoning up the rest of the shirt. "It's all right. I know you hate stealing, anyway."

She smiled, her teeth sparkling along with her skin. "Won't have to anymore!"

I grinned back, feeling her rising excitement. "How do I look?"

She reached up to the collar, giving the right side a tug. "You look amazing," she whispered, pulling me down by the collar for a kiss. I responded by picking her up to my level, but she laughed, pushing herself away after a moment. "None of that! We have to get going, if we're going to get there in time."

"In time for what?"

Her eyes narrowed. "In time to prevent Edward from making a _complete_ idiot of himself, instead of just a partial one." She frowned up at my rumpled collar, straightening it again. I lifted my hand as well, frowning when I touched the long, jagged scar that I would never be able to hide, unless I wore a scarf. I had a couple on my face, but they weren't near that bad.

"It's all right," she insisted. She opened the map and passed it to me along with a compass she had bought with the last of the money. I studied both for a moment, and after pocketing the compass, we left the map behind and began running. Alice's excitement was growing with every mile, to the point where she was almost floating over the ground. I hated to bring her back down to earth, but we needed to nail down the logistics of our approach.

"Alice, we need to talk about how much of my past we're going to reveal, when we get there. Have you seen the initial conversation?"

"Parts of it," she said absently, checking again. She began chewing on her lip, frowning. "Not much of it. There's just too many people, too many decisions involved. But I don't want to start everything off by lying, do you? Carlisle doesn't like it when people lie to him."

"I suppose not. It might be best to downplay my, ah, tenure in the Wars, though. And the whole executioner thing…"

"I see your point. We'll tell them eventually, though."

"Eventually. Now, what was that you said about Edward not being there in the beginning?"

She nodded. "He and Emmett will still be out hunting, if we get there when I think we will. I see us getting there by, what, noon?"

I nodded, picturing the map in my head. "That'll be good," I said in relief. They're the two I was most worried about."

Alice slowed to a jog. "What do you mean, worried? They're-"

"I know, our _family_," I parroted. "Darlin', you may know these people-somewhat- but they don't know us at all. Vampires don't always respond well to strangers. And you've never actually…" I was about to say, interacted with anyone except me. Of course, she heard it anyway.

"It's going to be fine!" she said with a pout. Alice's pout was one of the most adorable sights on earth. She was just so... well, adorable.

"Yes, but how much have you actually _seen_ about the next few days?"

"Not as much as I'd like," she admitted. "Everyone's futures are sort of… turbulent right now. Things are a little blurry."

I felt her deception instantly. "Alice…"

"Okay! A lot blurry. But I know it'll be all right in the end. I've still got the Family Portrait. And I still don't see Edward leaving anymore. And I'm almost _positive_ that I'm going shopping with Esme and Rosalie later this afternoon."

"Alone?" I hissed.

"Well, it's not like _you_ can come. Jasper," she sighed. "I know you want to see this as some kind of military engagement, with strategies and escape routes and backup plans. But this is a special day, too. We're joining our family. Let's enjoy it!"

"I'll try," I sighed. And I did try, as we ran in silence for a while. I tried to guess what it might be like to have a mother. I tried to imagine laughing with my new brothers, or playing pranks on Rosalie like I used to do with my human sister. But I couldn't get past the fear that Alice's visions hadn't told us the whole story. And even if the Cullens were normally peaceable, they might not be that way this week, or once we arrived.

But it was a relief to know that Edward and Emmett wouldn't be present for the initial encounter. I would be able to use my gift freely without anyone picking through my mind, and I wouldn't have to worry about Emmett ripping me in half if I looked at Rosalie the wrong way.

Our first challenge would be Carlisle, then. Alice had always described him as a gentle soul, and I believed her. But he was still the leader of the coven, and it was his responsibility to intercept possible threats, like us. He would already be on the defensive, if we arrived while it was just him and the females. Not that females couldn't fight; I had only made _that_ mistake once. But it was still good, especially since his mate would be there; he would be much less likely to attack that way. And I would start working on him immediately. I would begin with a shot of peace, before Carlisle even opened the door. And then, as the conversation continued, I would slowly ramp up a feeling of trust. Once we got in his good graces, I would taper off my influence slowly, so that by the time Edward got home, the offensive side of my gift wouldn't be too active. Then Edward would be free to be as suspicious as he wanted, but he wouldn't have anything specific to accuse me of, as long as I kept from _thinking_ about using my gift. And if all went according to plan, Carlisle would already be welcoming us into the family by that time. This would keep Edward around, and Alice would have everything she wanted, and we would all live happily ever after.

If it all went according to plan. I peeked over at Alice, who was running and dodging trees with her usual grace. "Alice," I said thoughtfully "That was a good idea you had, about covering up the scars. But I want to add one more precaution, if you don't mind."

She peeked ahead, hearing my next sentence. "You want to hide your gift? But it'll be obvious that you're an empath. To Edward, at least."

"I don't mean all of it. Just my ability to influence emotions- you know, the offensive part. I think it'll help Carlisle accept us, if he doesn't know about that."

She rolled her eyes, leaping over a fallen tree. "He'll accept us, Jasper, trust me."

"I do trust you. It's just…"

It was hard to put into words. Before meeting Alice, I had never trusted anyone except Peter. I hadn't even turned my back to Maria, the last few weeks I was with her. And the newborns were certainly volatile enough. Forming a friendship with Peter had been difficult for me, after keeping my own counsel for so long. Our alliance was cordial, and conversational, but I wouldn't have said that I trusted him at the time. And he certainly hadn't trusted _me_ at the time; he hadn't confided in me regarding Charlotte. It wasn't until he returned for me that I realized the power of the affection that we felt for each other. And he had taken a huge risk coming back at all, trusting that I wouldn't betray his presence. And I had trusted him in return, leaving with him and Charlotte that very night. But other than that, I had little experience with trust.

Until Alice. I had come to trust her visions implicitly, because of how many times they had helped me avoid humans. If she told me to hold my breath, I held it. If she told me to run North at my top speed, I ran. And so when she told me that everything would be all right when we got to the Cullen house, I trusted her… mostly. But this was different from avoiding those accidents. This involved five other vampires, whose temperaments and decisions could change at the blink of an eye. And while I had every confidence in my abilities- both in combat and in terms of my gift- they had the numbers, not to mention Edward's gift and Emmett's strength. How could I protect Alice, if things took a turn for the worse?

"It's just that your visions aren't set it stone, love. You know that. And you don't know how volatile our kind can be. I just want to go into this with every possible precaution. And no matter what, I want you to stay close to me, just in case." It suddenly occurred to me that I had never taught her anything about fighting; how on earth had I never gotten around to that? She was so small and thin, so easily broken… My worry overflowed onto her, and she veered over toward me. We both halted our running and she stood on her tiptoes, planting a kiss on the jagged scar that wound its way up the side of my neck.

"This is different," she said, the right side of her lips twisting upward with amusement. "I like it."

"What?"

"You, being overprotective. Of _me_. Isn't it funny?"

She was right; she had hit the nail right on the head. Up until now, it had been Alice protecting _me_. She had protected me from having accidents, from giving up on the new diet, from the emotional hallucinations that my withdrawal had brought me. She had done more than that; she had saved me from the misery that was my life, before her. She had given me a reason to live. But now it was time for me to assume the mantle of being _her_ protector. The power of her gift notwithstanding, it was my responsibility, both as her mate and as the experienced soldier that I was. But I was so used to indulging her every whim, and obeying her visions without question, that it was difficult for me to insist on anything. It was bad enough that I had agreed to do this so soon. Maybe this didn't have to happen. Maybe I could talk her out of it. But she was still smiling, her visions registering no change. No point in trying, then.

"Just allow me this one favor, ma'am," I said with mock solemnity, drawling out my accent to the extreme.

She brought her hand to her forehead in salute, flipping her palm toward me like a good Johnny Reb. "Yes, sir," she chirped, and my heart swelled as it answered her love. "So," she continued, slapping her hand back to her side, "it's okay to tell them that you're an empath, and it's okay to tell them about the Wars, just a bit?"

"Just a bit. Let's tell them about my gift first, and then once they get to yours they'll be so blown away that they'll forget all about me."

She pouted again. "If it makes you feel better. But we really have to get going, if you want time to 'work' on Carlisle, as you put it." Her amusement spoke for itself; she really was just indulging what she saw as a silly worry. I hoped that was all it was, because we were out of time. The sun was climbing fast, and we began our final sprint, racing towards our destiny.

.

.

.

We crossed the scent of two vampires in the southern tip of Coolidge State Forest. It was quite fresh; they had passed this way earlier in the morning.

"That must be Edward and Emmett," Alice mused, sniffing the air curiously. "I wonder which is which?" Her eyes unfocused for just a second. "Ha! They're going to be surprised when they find our scent here later. That will give us less time." We ran even faster after that.

We reached the house all too quickly, and I was pleased to see how isolated it was. That would definitely help. The smell of gasoline was fresh on the air; one of them must have just come home. I could hear three distinct voices coming from the house. A female- Rosalie, I assumed- was telling the other two about some sort of college application form.

"You may want to hit Rosalie with an extra dose of whatever it is you're cooking up," Alice said thoughtfully.

"Why's that?"

"Mmmm… I just think it's a good idea."

"Okay. You ready?"

Alice took a deep, quick breath and let it back out. Her excitement was shifting to anxiety now, and she slipped her hand inside mine. "I've been ready since I woke up. You?"

I tried to shrug, but apparently I was wound so tight my shoulders wouldn't move. I would need to relax, if I was going to be producing the emotions I wanted to hand out. I glanced down at Alice, taking her hand. She was nervous, as well. Had she looked like this while she waited for me in the diner?

"Want a little help?" I murmured, rubbing the back of her hand with my thumb. She nodded, and I took a deep breath, generating every ounce of calm that I could, and wrapping her in it like a cloud. At the same time, I pulled at her anxiety, making it my own. Her shoulders sank down, and she winked up at me gratefully. Now that she was calmer, her excitement was growing again, and she stood up eagerly on her toes, ready to step into the yard.

"Wait," I said, pulling her back. "One more thing. I want you to let me know when Edward and Emmett are close enough for him to hear us. I'd like to send him a greeting, and that's also when I'll scale back on my influence."

Alice leaned closer, her eyes sparkling. "Want to make a secret code?" she teased.

I smirked and bent down, kissing her hand. "You're adorable, you know that?"

"I know," she sang quietly. As I stood back up, she pecked my cheek and bounced up on her toes again. "Now come on."

We approached the house hand in hand, and I began sending peace towards it. As soon as my foot hit the first step, the voices inside quieted, and the door opened to reveal a blonde male vampire: Carlisle. I detected a hint of anxiety, but no fear. So far, so good.

"Hello," he said kindly, and a smile lit his handsome face as he looked down at Alice. Curiosity blossomed, and I answered it with another wave of peace, reminding myself not to pull Alice behind me. "It's not often that we receive visitors, but you are welcome. My name is-"

"Carlisle!" Alice squealed, shoving past me and bouncing up in the air toward him. I laid my hand on her shoulder and held her down, whispering her name in warning.

Carlisle's smile faded, and his anxiety peaked again. "I'm sorry, you have me at a disadvantage. But your eyes!"

"My name is Jasper Whitlock," I said, careful to keep my teeth hidden. "This is Alice. And yes, we are animal drinkers like you."

"Carlisle Cullen," Carlisle said, nodding and smiling again. "Please come in, and meet my family." He opened the door wider, motioning us inside. I raised my eyebrows in surprise; I hadn't even started with the trust yet. But Alice was already inside, tugging my hand along with her. I was suddenly aware of my dirt-caked feet, but it was too late to worry about that. We followed Carlisle into the living room, where I saw two females, one with caramel –colored hair, and the other blonde: Esme and Rosalie. Carlisle moved towards the dark-haired one, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "My wife Esme," he said, surging with pride and love. "And our daughter, Rosalie," he added, indicating the other. "We have two sons as well, but they're out hunting at the moment."

Esme smiled kindly, just like her mate. She was filled with curiosity, having overheard my introduction. "It's nice to meet you both," she said, her voice mellow and warm. "And especially nice to meet others who share our way of life!" Rosalie just stood frozen, and I saw what Alice had meant. She was brimming with anxiety, and no small amount of hostility. But she forced a smile anyway, and nodded to us. I nodded back, sending her a-

"Esme!" Alice cried joyfully, running forward before I could stop her. She crashed right into Carlisle's mate, and for one frightening moment, I thought there was going to be a fight. Everyone gasped in surprise, and Esme stumbled back a step, wrapping her arms around Alice. Rosalie bared her teeth, taking a step closer to them. I hissed in alarm, crouching in readiness for Carlisle's attack. I would need to fend him off first; I just hoped Esme wouldn't bite Alice before I got to them. Though maybe Rosalie would be the fiercer opponent… but Esme's crushing arms simply returned Alice's hug, and her anxiety only spiked for just a moment, settling into mere surprise. I stood back up sheepishly, and put my unused energy into sending a thick wave of trust over everyone. Rosalie settled back onto her heels, though she was still showing her teeth.

"Alice," I hissed. "Don't do that. They don't understand."

"Understand what?" Rosalie asked sharply.

Alice finally released her new mother, grinning around the room. "Sorry," she sang. "I'm just really, _really_ excited to meet you all!" Her eyes darted around the house, a feeling of contentment bubbling up to join her smile.

"I can see that," Carlisle said, sending me a nervous glance. But he turned back to Alice, smiling again. "I think it might be a good idea if we all sit down and explain… whatever there is to explain."

He waved his hand toward a low piece of furniture. It was a couch, I remembered- a low platform with cushioning, meant for a pair or group to sit on together. I didn't like the idea of being in such an indefensible posture, but I thought we had better do as he said, after Alice's display. No doubt he was trying to put us in a vulnerable position, and establishing his dominance. I nodded, pulling Alice over to the platform. I bent my body at an awkward right angle and sat down, pulling Alice against me and clamping my arm around her shoulders to prevent any further surprises. Meanwhile, Carlisle left the room, leaving the females unprotected; a gesture of trust. I relaxed a bit, but I was also confused. Was he always this foolish?

He reappeared a moment later, carrying a wooden chair in each hand and motioning for the females to sit. Rosalie just folded her arms and pressed her lips together, so Carlisle took the chair beside his mate's. Why were we all sitting down?

"Alice and Jasper," he began, "it seems that you have some prior knowledge of our family. Are you acquainted with a coven of five up in central Alaska?"

"Not yet," Alice answered, her smile unchanged. "Though we'd love to meet them. Tanya seems so _nice_. I don't understand why Edward is always so rude to her. And Carmen is such a sweetheart, and Kate too, although I'm not sure about Irina. And Eleazar… well, I think he's just going to have a field day with-"

"Alice," I sighed. "I think you'd better start at the beginning. Or better yet, let _me_ start at the beginning." I gave her a pleading look, and she clamped her mouth shut, her eyes sparkling with mischief; she was humoring me again. She leaned back into my elbow, sighing delicately.

"I think that would help," Carlisle said, his anxiety shifting to amusement. "Would I be correct in guessing that one of you is gifted? It's the only explanation I can think of, if you aren't acquainted with the Denalis."

I nodded politely. "We both are. I am an empath, and Alice has visions of the future." I paused a moment, letting their shock subside before I continued. I decided to begin with my human life; it seemed that the Cullens would like that sort of thing. "I was born in 1844, down in Houston, Texas. Like most of our kind, I don't remember much about those days. I do remember that I had an older sister, and that my mother died when I was quite young. My father and I…" I hesitated, glancing up at Carlisle. Now that the first test was passed, I was beginning to hope in the future Alice had envisioned. What would it be like to have a _father_ again? There was a reason I had run away from home when I was sixteen.

"Go on," Carlisle said gently. I had hesitated too long, and he was feeling pity now.

"After my sister married and moved away, things were… difficult. I left home as well, and lied about my age to join the Confederate Army."

"You were in the Civil War?" Esme asked, full of awe.

"Yes ma'am," I said with a polite nod. This was the part of the story I could be proud of. "For two years. I rose quickly through the ranks, and I was soon the youngest major in the entire Army. On the night that I was changed, I was escorting a group of women and children out of Galveston, because of the battle there. I had just dropped them off in Houston, and was riding back for the next group when they found me. Three females, and I naturally assumed they were stragglers from the group I had just been with. I drew closer to offer my assistance, and the leader, Maria, decided to change me, instead of feeding. She had a sense that I might be… useful, with my military experience."

I paused again, leaving out the gory details. "You have heard of the Wars in the South?" I asked, watching my audience carefully.

Carlisle nodded, his pity growing as he guessed the next part of the story. I spun his pity larger and larger, letting it settle over the whole group. "Maria was one of those who formed armies of newborns. After I had woken up, she wanted me to take part. And I did for a while, but only because I didn't know there was another way. She told me that the Wars covered the earth, and that if I were to desert, I would just find myself in another battle somewhere else. Fortunately, one of these deserters returned, and told me the truth. I left that night, and soon discovered that he was right. I was relieved to get away from the fighting."

"How awful!" Esme sighed, shaking her head. "I'm glad you were able to escape. Is that when you met Alice?"

"No, I only met her two years ago," I said, looking down at Alice fondly. "I wandered with my friend and his mate- Peter and Charlotte- for a little while, and then I struck off on my own." Alice stirred under my arm, eager to tell her story now.

"Meanwhile, I woke up in 1920," she announced, and everyone shifted their gaze to her. "I didn't remember anything about my human life, and I still don't."

Rosalie finally came to life. "You don't remember _anything_ about being a human?" she asked, amazed.

"Nothing. Anyway, as soon as I woke up, I started having visions. The first one was of Jasper, and the second one…" she paused dramatically. "Was of you- all the Cullens. It was sort of like a family portrait, and Jasper and I were in it, our eyes golden like yours."

"Amazing," Carlisle sighed. "In 1920, it was only Edward and me. Yet you saw Rosalie, back then?"

"And Emmett, and Esme. I figured out that the pictures in my head were visions of the future, and that my destiny was to be with Jasper. And that _our_ destiny was to become a part of your family."

It was almost funny, how everyone's eyebrows shot up at once. I stirred up the trust again. Alice hadn't wasted any time, had she?

"Anyway, I was still a newborn, and I was really confused," Alice went on. "I didn't know what the golden eyes meant, and I didn't know where to go. I didn't even know what I was, for a while. But I began watching Jasper, and you and Edward, as much as I could. I saw the day you changed Esme, and-"

Now Carlisle was truly amazed. "You _saw_ me change Esme?"

"Yes! I had already seen her in that first picture, so when I saw you carrying her into the house, I had already known that she was going to be a Cullen. Edward was all upset, and I could tell how much you loved her already, how nervous you were… it was so _romantic_!" She sighed, leaning back into my arm again. "No, Esme. It doesn't work like that."

Carlisle frowned, turning to his mate. "Did you say something?"

Esme's eyes were wide. "No, but I was about to. I was about to ask if she had seen us meeting the first time, back when I was sixteen. How did you hear me, Alice? Was it a… vision?"

Alice nodded cheerfully.

"But you said your visions were pictures," Carlisle said. "You can hear things, as well?"

"They're pictures when they're farther ahead," Alice explained. "When it's something that's going to happen, say, in two days or less, I sometimes get sound and movement as well, depending on how certain the event is. It's just like watching a movie! Only if I'm paying attention of course, which I am right now. So I heard Esme's question as soon as she decided to ask it. Anyway, Esme, the reason that I never saw you as a younger human was that I only see the future. I don't see anything of the past… not even my own. It took me years to figure out my own name! I was in a department store, and this lady-"

"Wait a minute," Rosalie interrupted. "Are you telling us that you've been _watching_ us this whole time?"

"As much as I could," Alice answered. "Though it took me a long time to learn how to control what I saw. Anyway, after I-"

"How much, exactly, have you been watching?" Rosalie demanded. She flared with anger, and I stiffened against the sudden change. I sent peace into the room again. It was a good thing we had decided not to immediately reveal the fact that I was capable of "helping" them trust us. Rosalie probably wouldn't like that, either.

"Oh, I give privacy where it's needed," Alice assured her. "And believe me, I've only gotten bits and pieces. For example, Rosalie, I know that your engagement ring used to belong to Edward's human mother, and I know you got that dress at Macy's last week, but I've never been able to figure out your maiden name."

Rosalie's jaw clenched, and her anger flared again. Maybe _she_ hadn't known about the ring. Or maybe it was just hearing Edward's name that did it; Alice had told me how much they liked to bicker. Or maybe getting angry was just a habit of hers.

"My name was Rosalie Hale," she ground out, self-pity replacing some of the anger. I shoved a wave of peace towards her, and her arms fell to her sides.

Alice was delighted. "There! See how much easier it is, when I can just ask? Anyway, Carlisle, after you changed Esme, I was able to figure out the animal diet. What a relief! So there I was, alone, just watching and waiting, until two years ago. I had known that I would meet Jasper in a diner in Philadelphia, and I had always had that vision as a still picture, because it was in the distant future. As soon as the picture turned into a movie, I knew it was time, and so I ran to Philadelphia to meet him."

"My turn," I insisted, smiling as her excitement and love enveloped us both. "It was raining, and so I went into the diner to get out of the weather. And Alice was there, waiting for me and already loving me. She told me that I had kept her waiting a long time." I pulled her closer, kissing the top of her hair and soaking in the happiness that our love story was giving everyone. Even Rosalie was beginning to thaw, a tiny smile playing at her lips. "It was love at first sight for me, as well. Alice told me everything, and introduced me to the animal diet. Though, as you can see, I still… struggle, from time to time."

"I'm sure it must be difficult," Carlisle said kindly. "Especially after so many years of feeding traditionally. Making the choice you have made, this far into your second life, is quite an achievement." He swelled with _pride_, of all things. I smiled hesitantly back at him, nodding my thanks.

"Anyway, here we are!" Alice squealed, slipping out from under my arm and bouncing to her feet. "Which room do you think we should take? Wait, I know!" She zipped up the stairs, leaving the Cullens to stare at me in disbelief and amusement.

"My apologies," I said quickly. "She's been planning this day for years. We can stay out in the woods, of course, or we could come back another time, if-"

"No, no, it's quite all right," Carlisle insisted. "We're just taking it all in. Esme, if it's all right with you…" He looked at his mate with a hint of worry, but she nodded immediately.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like," she said kindly. Rosalie flared with jealousy and let out some kind of choking sound, but she nodded, as well. I filled the room with peace again, pleased with how things were going. Nobody was feeling afraid anymore, and something strange was growing in Esme's heart- it felt like love, if that was possible already. Though maybe she was just thinking about her other children. It was a type of love I had never felt before. It was… tender.

"I think we'd better go up with her," she added. She went up the stairs first, followed by Rosalie. Carlisle gestured for me to go up before him, and after a brief hesitation, I nodded and began my ascent. It was unnerving to turn my back on him so soon, but I detected no malice. I made it safely to the next floor to find Alice darting in and out of one of the bedrooms, emptying it of its contents. Worry was rising from Esme.

"Alice, maybe we'd… I don't… that's Edward's room," she finished weakly.

"I know, but it has the best view!" Alice called from within the room. She reemerged, carrying a load of shirts still on their hangers and balancing a potted plant on top of them all. "Don't worry, he'll get over it. I should know!"

Esme looked doubtful, and her worry spiked. "You can already see that? I mean, if you're sure…"

Alice handed me the pile of clothes, catching the plant as it began to fall. "Of course he will! Rosalie, want to help?"

Rosalie smiled mischievously, her jealousy dissipating. "Absolutely," she said, heading into the room behind Alice.

"Rosalie…" Esme said in a warning tone.

"What? She said he would get over it." She began tearing things off the walls, feeling a odd sense of pleasure as she did it. "Where should we put his things?" she wondered aloud.

Carlisle opened his mouth, but Alice zipped past us again with another armload. "The garage! Good idea, Carlisle!" She disappeared down the stairs and Rosalie followed with her arms full as well. Her amusement so ridiculously strong that I barked out a laugh myself.

Carlisle and Esme turned to me curiously. "I'm sorry," I told them. "It's just that Rosalie is feeling very amused right now. Her emotion was so strong that it affected me, as well. It happens sometimes."

"Edward is going to be so glad to meet you, Jasper," Esme said. "He's always wanted to meet an empath."

I stiffened at the mention of Edward's return home. How long did we have? I could only imagine what his reaction would be if he met us while we were dumping his belongings out of his room. When Alice zipped past me again, I grabbed her arm.

"Why don't we do this later?" I suggested, giving her a meaningful look.

"Oh, we have plenty of time!" she said, twisted her arm out of my hand. "They won't be back until we're in the living room, anyway."

"The living room?" asked Carlisle. "How do you-"

"Saw it!" Alice yelled, her voice echoing in the now-empty closet. "Jasper, come here for a minute!"

I left Carlisle and Esme in the hallway, whispering to each other. Alice was standing inside the closet, beckoning to me with her finger. I darted over to her, and she leapt up into my arms, peppering my face with kisses. "We're going to have some good times in this closet, Jasper Whitlock," she whispered. "I've seen it." I sighed in contentment, pushing her back up against the wooden wall of the closet and kissing her soundly, pulling away only when we heard Rosalie's footsteps on the stairs.

"Told you everything would be fine," Alice whispered in my ear as I set her down. "Three down, two to go!" I couldn't help it; I was beginning to share her excitement. Everything in my life that was worth smiling about had come to me because of my Alice, and this was shaping up to be one of them.

"Try not to jump on them when they get here," I pleaded, but I was smiling, as well.

"Where's your stuff?" Rosalie asked, entering the room.

"Stuff?" I echoed.

"We don't have any stuff!" Alice sang, twirling around in a circle and flopping backwards onto a leather couch that ran along the outside wall. "But you and Esme are taking me shopping later. I can't wait! Oh, it's going to be so much fun having a sister!"

"A… sister?" Rosalie seemed to be chewing on the word, curiosity blending with pleasure. She glanced down at Alice, and bent down to touch the frayed fabric of her dress. "You're right, we should _definitely _go shopping." Then she straightened up, looking at me uncertainly. "I mean, you could come if you want, too, Jasper. You've probably never been separated from your… mate before, have you? You could wear Carlisle's sunglasses, to hide your eye color."

I was touched. Not only did Rosalie understand my anxiety, but she was reaching out in friendship, despite her reservations. Perhaps my new sister and I would get along, after all. "Thank you," I said, nodding slightly, "but it wouldn't be possible. I'm not able to be around humans. Not yet, anyway."

"Oh. Then I suppose you won't be joining us in school this fall then?"

Alice's eyes opened wide, and she sat up in a blur. "School…" Her eyes glazed over and a huge smile spread over her face. She snapped out of it and bounced right into Rosalie's arms, squeezing her around the waist. "Oh, we're going to have such good times together, Rosalie!"

Rosalie smiled uncertainly, slowly moving her arms to return Alice's embrace. I sent yet another wave of peace their way, and Rosalie's shoulders relaxed. "What about you, Jasper?" she asked, releasing Alice. "What should we get for you when we go out later?"

"Don't trouble yourself," I said reflexively. Rosalie quirked an eyebrow, staring down at my bare feet. "Well… I guess I could do with some shoes. Don't spend too much, though, please. I don't have any… funds at the moment." I was suddenly struck with shame as I realized how much I hadn't been able to give my mate before now: a roof over her head, possessions, female companionship, new clothes, shoes even! Mostly human needs, but there was no mistaking the happiness that Alice was buzzing with right now. For the first time, I was glad that Edward had started this whole mess two days ago, just so that Alice could be here now. If he hadn't, there was no telling how long I would have put this off.

Rosalie waved her hand dismissively. "If you're going to be a Cullen, the first thing to learn is that Carlisle provides for his family." She felt a flash of guilt, but then smiled again. "Now sit down, please." She motioned to the couch, and I sat obediently. She picked up my dirty foot, measuring it against the length of her arm. Then she held her arm against mine, measuring that as well, and eyed the width of my waist, and then my chest. She felt a brief moment of admiration as her eyes swept over me, but it was soon gone. I took the opportunity to study her, as well. She was just as beautiful as Alice had described her, and more. But she didn't compare to my Alice. Not even close.

Esme entered the room then, smiling at all of us. "I was thinking, Alice, why don't Rosalie and I take you shopping later on today?" Alice and Rosalie collapsed into giggles, and Esme looked at me in confusion.

"You'll just have to get used to it," I told her with a smile.

.

.

.

Once we had emptied our new room of Edward's belongings, we retired to the living room to wait for him and Emmett. Alice and I sat on the couch again.

"So, Carlisle," she said excitedly, "I've been dying to hear about _you_. You've lived a long time, haven't you?"

"I'm afraid I still don't understand how your visions work," he confessed. "Don't you already know everything?"

"Bits and pieces, remember," she replied. "I've picked up tidbits about your past from conversations that I've overheard, but I've never really heard much about what you were doing before I woke up. I know you're from England, and that you've been a doctor for a long time, but that's it. I don't even know what year you changed Edward in."

"It was 1918," he replied, his heart surging with love and pride. "I myself was changed back in 1663."

"1663?" Alice and I echoed together. I had no _idea_ he was that old. It seemed that Alice hadn't either. "Tell us everything," Alice urged. "And I promise not to peek ahead!"

"Very well," Carlisle chuckled, "though it will take a while. I was born in…"

He began talking, taking us back to the seventeenth century. It was a fascinating tale. He had woken up like Alice, alone and confused, though with his memories intact. Both Alice and I were shocked to learn that he had _never_ fed on human blood before. I considered myself an expert on newborn behavior, but this seemed impossible. He didn't seem to be lying, though. He continued his story, bringing us to the current century, and his decision to create a companion. When he spoke of finding Edward in a Chicago hospital, and of his change, I observed a curious mixture of love and guilt arising from his heart.

Soon after that, Alice nudged my shoulder. I glanced over to her, and her eyes darted meaningfully toward the window. They were coming, then. I began scaling down my influence slowly and watching the Cullens carefully as I did so. They didn't seem to notice the change. I didn't really understand everything about how my gift worked, even after all these years. Would the peace and trust I had been emitting stay around for a while, hanging in the air like a scent? Or would the Cullens immediately begin feeling uncomfortable around us, once I stopped artificially boosting their trust? I should have done this earlier, so that I would have time to observe the effects. Now wasn't the time to experiment, not with two vampires just coming to stir up the mix. I would continue to emit peace and trust through the day, then. I could probably do it without conscious thought; I had done it often enough with Maria. But now I needed to stop thinking about it, since Edward was approaching. I decided to send him a greeting, to put him at ease ahead of time. How did one speak to a telepath? I concentrated on forming words in my mind. _Edward. __I don't know if you can hear us yet, but don't be alarmed. __My name is Jasper, and my mate's name is Alice. __We are not hostile._

I turned my full attention to Carlisle after that, refusing to think about anything involving the emotional climate of the room. After waiting a while, I sent the greeting again. Four seconds after that, Alice perked up beside me. "They're almost home," she announced cheerfully. She turned to me, her eyes sparkling with that "I'll humor you" look again. "He heard you," she told me. I nodded my understanding.

"Amazing," breathed Carlisle. "Simply amazing. Jasper, can you sense them yet with your gift?"

I shook my head, trying not to think about it. "Please, go on," I urged him. He smiled and continued his tale. He had skipped over the part about Edward leaving home, though he had glanced at Alice curiously, when he got to the part he was omitting. He must have been wondering how much we knew. He had moved on quickly, and was just getting to Rosalie's change when Alice sat up straighter, and we all heard a footstep on the porch outside. I felt their curiosity before I saw them.

The door opened and a slender male vampire with bronze-colored hair all but fell through the door, as another one shoved his way inside. The second one was _huge_\- at least two inches taller than me, and twice as big, his biceps thicker than my head. Emmett, without a doubt. My instincts bristled and I ached to leap up in front of Alice, but I reminded myself not to appear hostile. Besides, I had to keep Alice down, or she would no doubt do something unexpected. To my dismay, she jumped up anyway, right toward Edward. I followed her instinctively, reaching for her shoulders to pull her back. But she was too quick, as usual, and threw herself right into Edward's arms, feeling right at home.

"Hello, Edward! I'm Alice! Well, you already knew that, because we told you. It's so good to see you, in person I mean! Oh, isn't it wonderful?!"

Edward was shocked, to say the least. He set her down, only to be shocked again when Alice dove for Emmett. Seeing her so close to such a huge vampire made me feel a little sick. He could snap her like a twig! I swallowed nervously, but his huge, friendly smile spoke for itself. He boomed out a laugh as his huge arms enveloped her easily. I sighed in relief, relaxing my stance. He really _was_ a gentle giant.

"Sorry," I told Edward and Emmett. "She gets like this sometimes. She's harmless, though."

"I doubt _that_," Edward replied with a smirk, and everyone laughed. The room filled with amusement, and the increasing curiosity of the two younger males. Alice had been right all along; this had gone even better than I had dared to hope. I still didn't know what manner of people the Cullens were - not really- but it was obvious we weren't in any immediate danger. I took a deep breath and let it out, soaking in the positive emotions that were surrounding me. I relaxed some more, smiling hesitantly and watching Alice with pleasure as she laughed. I finally laughed with her, unable to resist the heady amusement swirling around me. Once again, Alice had brought me into a whole new world, and I loved her for it.

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**I know you'll probably want to go right to 1950 now to read the rest, but please come back to review this one when you get a chance! This ends the "Alice/Jasper" section of the outtakes, for now. ** **You've all made so many great outtake requests, and I can't wait to write some of them!**


	12. 1950: First Shopping Trip

**It's high time we had an Esme Outtake! This one was requested by abishop47, and takes place during 1950 Chapters 10-12. Enjoy!**

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**Esme POV**

I glanced up into the rear view mirror again, studying our newest daughter. Alice was a very petite girl, no bigger than a child. She looked to be full grown, though- perhaps eighteen or nineteen. She was beautiful, of course, though in a different way than Rosalie; her hair was her most remarkable feature, midnight black flames leaping away from her head at all angles. It made her look surprised, like she had just gotten some sort of shock.

But her smile was pure sunshine, and her golden eyes were full of excitement, and perhaps just a little mischief. I couldn't even imagine what was going through her mind, in terms of thoughts and _visions_, on this first day with our family: she had been waiting thirty years for this day, after all.

She was just so sweet, and so peculiar! At the moment, though, she looked a little worried. "Alice, dear, are you all right?" I asked.

She was staring out the window, turning in the back seat to watch behind us as we drove out the driveway. She blew her mate a kiss and then stared out the back window for another moment before turning around to face forward.

"I'm fine, Esme!" she said. Her voice was like a child's, too: high and happy. She leaned forward so that her face was between mine and Rosalie's. "This is so exciting! I've never been in a car before. How do you drive it?"

Rosalie shifted away from Alice's face, looking a little uncomfortable but smiling slightly at Alice's energy. "I can teach you, if you like," she offered. "Though haven't you learned by watching us?"

"Oh, I don't watch that sort of thing," Alice said, staring intently at my hands as I turned the steering wheel, pulling out onto the highway. "I mean, I've watched television a few times with you and Emmett, and I've watched Esme do things around the house sometimes, but I'd rather peek in when you're all doing something _interesting_. Like that time when…" she trailed off into silence, and Rosalie and I looked at each other in confusion.

"Alice?"

She perked up, looking at me. "Sorry! Just checking on Jasper. Anyway, like that time when Emmett –"

"Alice," I said gently. "Are you worried about being apart from your mate? We can go back, if you like."

"No, it's all right!" she said. "It's important for the boys to spend some time together before the big confrontation tonight."

"What confrontation?" Rosalie asked, leaning away from Alice again. Alice was climbing halfway up the side of Rosalie's seat, leaning across Rosalie's shoulder to look at herself in the side mirror. I couldn't help but smile; it was like having a toddler in the car, or even a half-grown puppy.

"Alice dear, one usually stays seated while the car is running," I told her. "Now, what confrontation?"

Alice plopped back onto the back seat. "Oh, about Jasper's gift. He was nervous about coming here, and so he decided to emit some helpful emotions: calm, trust, peace, whatever he felt was needed. Anyway, Edward is going to-"

"What do you mean, _emit_?" Rosalie asked sharply.

"I mean Jasper didn't tell you everything about his gift yet," Alice clarified, sitting up on her knees to look in the rear view mirror now. She frowned at her reflection, pulling at her unruly hair. "He can influence people's emotions, as well as sense them."

"You mean he's been _controlling_ us?" Rosalie said through her teeth.

"Oh, just _helping_," Alice said. "You can't blame him, really. He's so used to war and death and treachery, it was hard for him to accept the fact that you all were as nice as I told him you were. He's all about strategy, and emotional environment, and things like that. He didn't mean anything by it. So anyway, Edward's going to figure it out later, when he gets away from Jasper. And you know Edward, he's just so _dramatic_, he's going to go tattle to Carlisle…"

"Alice, I'm a little confused," I said, slowing down the car. "If there's going to be an argument, why don't we just go back now and explain everything? Maybe we can stop there from _being_ a confrontation."

Alice was quiet for a moment, but then shook her head. "No, it's better this way," she said firmly. Her eyes focused on nothing again, and I shared a worried glance with Rosalie. Alice seemed to be a sweet girl, and I felt sure that she and her mate would be happy with us. But I wasn't sure what to think about their gifts. First there was the fact that Alice had been watching us without our knowledge, and now it looked like Jasper had been engineering our acceptance of them earlier. Come to think of it, Carlisle and I had accepted them into the family without a moment's hesitation. And Edward and Rosalie had been so calm around each other, unusually so, considering their recent fight. Perhaps we had been a little quick to accept these strangers into our home. They both seemed so friendly- well, Alice did, anyway- that I couldn't imagine them wanting to harm us. But it was a little unsettling to discover how in _control_ they both were over this situation. I was beginning to feel a little uneasy.

But we _had_ welcomed them into our home, and they did need a home, after all. And they needed some clothes, if nothing else- and I was pleased to see how well Rosalie and her new sister were getting along. Although now, Rosalie's mood seemed to be deteriorating. Perhaps that was because we were away from Jasper now? Maybe that was why I was feeling more uneasy with every mile, though it didn't mean that we still couldn't make it work.

"Alice," I said. She just stared ahead, focusing intently on one of her visions.

"That's really strange," Rosalie muttered, staring at her in the rear view mirror.

"_Alice_," I said in a louder voice. She blinked twice, and looked at me.

"I don't know."

"You don't know what?" Rosalie asked.

"Esme was going to ask how long it takes for Jasper's influence to wear off. And the answer is, I don't know, because that's not the sort of thing I could figure out with my visions. And we've never met anyone else, since we were together, so I've never been around him when he's used his gift. And he doesn't like using it on me. But I would guess it wears off pretty quickly. Regular emotions can change pretty fast, anyway- it seems like his influence would wear off even faster than that."

"Well, that explains a lot," Rosalie grumbled to herself. "And just for future reference, Alice, it's impolite to answer someone before they ask a question out loud. We already have one family member who talks to the voices in his head."

"Rosalie," I murmured. "Alice is very new to all this. Let's be patient."

"Oh…" Alice said, looking downcast. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Rosalie. I'm so used to just watching all of you, like a television show. I don't really know how to _talk_ to people."

"It's all right," Rosalie sighed.

"It's not so much about manners, Alice," I said gently. "It's just confusing when you answer a person's question before they say it. It's especially confusing for the other people around, who didn't know what question you're answering."

"I see," Alice said brightly. "Okay, I'll try not to do that anymore."

"Maybe Edward can learn a thing or two from you," Rosalie said. "Manners like that seem to escape him on a regular basis."

"Rosalie," I sighed.

"I _know_!" Alice laughed, bouncing up onto her knees again. "Do you know it took me almost a year to figure out that he was a telepath? In the beginning, I thought he was schizophrenic!"

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Vampires can't have mental illnesses, or any kind of illness for that matter."

"Well, I didn't know that back then," she answered. "I didn't even know that I was a vampire until I read about them in a book- and even then, I didn't understand why I wasn't exactly like the ones in the story. I woke up without any memories, and no one taught me anything about who I was, or how to live."

"That must have been awful," I sighed. "I'm so glad you were able to use your visions to find out about us, and that you learned how to hunt animals that way, too."

"Me, too!" she said with a bright smile. "Anyway, I didn't really know at first how to control my visions that well. I'm guessing that when you were new, Carlisle and Edward explained his gift to you, but I missed that part. I was just catching little glimpses, here and there, and it wasn't until 1922 that I really started being able to sit and watch you all have conversations- I mean that I could hear. And so at first, it looked to me like Edward just kept saying things that didn't make sense, like he was talking to a voice he heard in his head. He would just be sitting in a room by himself and say random things, like 'No, thank you' or 'It's in the hall closet', when nobody else seemed to be speaking. It was really strange."

"I can see how that would be a little confusing," I admitted. "And I suppose that after while, none of us would think to say the word 'mind-reader' out loud, since it was just normal for us. So when did you figure it out?"

She thought for a moment. "It was in March of 1923," she said decidedly. "I was watching Edward, because he was playing the piano- I love his music! Anyway, the phone rang, and he answered it. He said a few things that made me guess that it was Carlisle on the phone. It sounded like he had called to ask Edward to look up something in his file cabinet, because Edward started rummaging through it, holding the phone with his shoulder. And then he laughed and said 'You know I hate talking to you on the phone. How am I supposed to know _which_ green folder, if I can't see you picture it in your mind?' So that got me thinking about all those times he was supposedly talking to himself, and everything made a lot more sense. It was a relief to learn that he wasn't demented, after all."

"I've known Edward for seventeen years," Rosalie said drily, "and I _still_ think he's demented."

"Rosalie!" I scolded. "That will be quite enough. I thought you two had made up! You were getting along so well earlier."

"That was because we were being manipulated by an empath," she growled.

"Well, wasn't it nice to be civil to each other?" I asked gently. Rosalie just folded her arms and looked pointedly out her window. "I know you're angry, sweetheart," I continued, "but I don't see how refusing to feel better is going to help. Maybe Jasper could help you again, when we get home."

"I don't _want_ to feel better," she said to the window. Then she glanced back at Alice. "I suppose you saw all that, didn't you?"

"Your fight with Edward yesterday?" Alice said quietly. "Yes, I saw it. I saw it the day before, sort of. I wished I could reach out and shake him before he said all those awful things to you."

"How?" I asked. "I thought you said your visions were based on the decisions people made. Surely Edward didn't decide beforehand to behave so poorly! And I'm positive that you would never would have hit him on purpose, Rosalie. You were just upset, and you lost control for the moment. It was an accident."

"Mostly," Rosalie muttered under her breath.

"Rosalie," I said sharply, "Do we need to discuss this _again_? You know how important it is for our kind to control our violent urges. Edward could have hurt you!"

Rosalie finally jerked her eyes to mine, her nails digging into her sleeves. "You _know_ he started it! And you heard what he said to me!"

"I know, dear. And it was very wrong of him, and very hurtful. But you're the one who took the fight to a dangerous level; you _know_ your father and I do not abide physical violence, under any circumstance except play-fighting."

"But we're _vampires_, Esme. Sometimes-"

"No buts, Rosalie. You and Edward both have some apologies to make later tonight, and under the… circumstances, I don't think you and Emmett should run off tonight at all. So even if Edward doesn't come forward first, I am trusting that you will still offer your own apology. You're older than him, in human terms, and you know how much he's been through this week. And you're not just a vampire; you're a young lady. You'll try to be gracious, won't you?"

"Yes," she sighed. "I already apologized for hitting him, anyway."

"Good. And?".

"And it won't happen again," she recited, rolling her eyes. I hated it when she did that, but I had already picked apart her behavior enough, and in front of Alice, too.

"I'm sorry, Alice," I said to the mirror. "I was about to ask you, how were you able to see their argument a whole day ahead of time, when they couldn't have possibly decided to have it?"

"I didn't see the whole conversation, per se," Alice said thoughtfully. "But I saw there would be a fight. It was sort of inevitable that something like that would happen, what with all that went wrong this week for him. You do sort of bring out the worst in each other, Rosalie."

Rosalie huffed and spun back to face forward. "No, she's right, dear," I said carefully. "You and Edward are both wonderful people. I can never understand why you bicker so much."

"It's because he's an overbearing, meddling, know-it-all," Rosalie said easily. "And he's incapable of minding his own business."

"No, _I'm_ incapable of minding my own business," Alice said gaily.

"Yes, but you're nice about it," Rosalie sniffed.

"Let's drop it for now," I sighed. "We're here." I pulled into the parking lot and Alice squealed with excitement, gluing herself to the left window to look at the storefronts.

"I love the blue dress!" she cried. "Thank you, Esme!"

"What blue dress?"

She pointed to the boutique on the left, jamming her finger against the glass. "We're going in there first, and you're going to find me the _sweetest_ blue dress, with short sleeves and white polka dots and-"

"That's _really_ strange," Rosalie mouthed to me behind Alice's back. "I hope she doesn't embarrass us in there."

"Alice…" I wasn't sure how to say this. "Before we go in, I think we'd better… I mean, have you ever been in a store with humans before?"

"Oh, yes!" she said. "And don't worry, I'll talk quietly and sit like a lady."

"I wasn't going to say that," I said quickly.

"Oh, yes you were!" she said with a twinkle in her eye. "But it's all right, I know how to behave in public, and how to sit, and all that. I used to sit in department stores, back when I first went on the animal diet."

"What do department stores have to do with hunting?" Rosalie asked.

"Well… after my eyes started to change, it was the first time that I could really spend time around humans. I mean, it took a little while for me to not go crazy around their scent, when I first stopped, but after that I loved to sit in department stores. I just loved to watch the mothers and children go about their shopping, chattering with each other and enjoying themselves. I knew that someday I would be able to go with you two, and so when I watched other families like that, it made me feel a little less lonely."

"Oh, Alice," I sighed, reaching back to grasp her little hand. "You must have felt so alone, all those years!"

"Yes, I was," she admitted. "For Jasper, but for all of you, too. It was so frustrating, being able to watch you all and not be able to participate!"

"Well, now it's time," I announced, squeezing her hand. "Although I'm sure you've gone shopping yourself plenty of times, on your own."

"No, I haven't," she replied with a dainty sigh.

"You've _never_ gone shopping?" Rosalie asked in shock. "But where'd you get that dress?"

"I stole it," she confessed. "I don't like stealing, but I didn't have any choice. In the beginning, I got my clothes off of my human victims. Or I would just sneak into a store at night and get something- my eyes were too red to go shopping with all those bright lights. And then when I switched to animals, and I _could_ be seen in public, I didn't have any money, because I wasn't killing people anymore. So I would just sit in the stores and watch people, stealing something only when I really needed it. And since Jasper, well… I don't like to leave him alone, so I go even less into town now. I just keep wearing the same thing until it wears out." She picked at the threadbare hem of her dress. "But not anymore! Jazz is going to _love_ the blue dress!"

"Well, here's a bit of advice for your first shopping trip," Rosalie said, getting out of the car. "Don't use your visions!"

"Why not?" Alice asked. "Oh, I see."

"See what?" I asked.

"Oops! Sorry," Alice sighed.

"That's exactly what I mean," Rosalie said. "Just like peeking ahead can spoil a conversation, peeking ahead while shopping is just going to take the fun right out of it. You've got to…" she waved her hand in the air, searching for the right word. "You've got to think of it like a hunt. Enjoy _looking_ for something you like, and enjoy the _act_ of looking for it. Use your imagination, not your visions. Don't just peek ahead to the end result. Shopping is all about the search, the mystery, the possibilities."

"Possibilities?" Alice asked, her eyes glazing over.

"You're doing it again," Rosalie growled playfully.

Alice laughed, coming out of her vision. "Okay, no more peeking. I mean, not on purpose. Sometimes I can't really help it."

"I can tell," Rosalie muttered. We walked into the boutique, and Alice made a beeline for the blue dress. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers, sighing.

"See?" Rosalie said. "Don't you think it would have been more fun if you had spent time looking through all the clothes, trying to decide what to get, instead of going right for the kill?"

"You're right!" Alice agreed. "But can I still get this one?"

"Of course," I laughed. "You can get whatever you want."

"_Anything_?" Alice asked, her eyes wide. "I've never owned more than one dress before!"

I laid my arm around her tiny shoulders. "Alice, of course I'll get you more than one thing," I said warmly. "You're a part of our family now."

"But I thought you said that before because Jasper was helping you trust us," she said, looking a little uncertain.

"Maybe so," I admitted. "But I'm feeling my own emotions right now, Alice. I'm happy that you're here, and I'm hoping that you will choose to stay with us. I'm sure the others will feel the same way, after Jasper explains everything."

"Mmmm," she said, staring off into space. "I'm not sure about that. But I still see us staying… mostly. So I think everything will work out."

I pulled her closer, squishing the blue dress between us. "I hope so," I said, my throat hitching. "Because nothing would make me happier than to give you the home you've been waiting for."

.

.

.

It was only ten minutes later that things got exciting. Alice had been having the time of her life flipping through the clothes in the boutique, and I had only had to remind her once to browse at human speed. She had taken a pile into the dressing room, and I had laughed to see her look of fierce concentration as she walked, the pile of clothes higher than her face.

"What's wrong?" I laughed.

"I'm trying not to peek ahead, really!" she said into the clothes. "But I have to peek a little, so I know where to step! I can't see a thing!"

I laughed. "Here, let me help you." I led her into the dressing room and closed the door to give her some privacy. I went back to find Rosalie looking thoughtfully at a pair of earrings.

"They're lovely, dear," I said, holding them up beside her face. "Why don't you get them?"

Rosalie sighed, taking the earrings from me and tracing them with her finger slowly. "Esme…"

But we were interrupted by the sound of Alice's high-pitched scream. We rushed back to the fitting room, only to find the store owner already opening the door. Alice was huddled in the corner, a blouse slid halfway onto her shoulders. She was a frozen statue, staring straight ahead in a panic.

"What's wrong, miss?" the owner asked. "Are you hurt?"

Alice jerked back to the present, staring up at the human. Her eyes were darker than they had been a moment ago, and I jumped in between them, just in case.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "You'll have to forgive my daughter. She has these fits sometimes… she'll be all right in a moment."

The owner sniffed disapprovingly. "If you can't control your children, ma'am, I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Of course, we were just going," I said, kneeling to gather up the clothes as quickly as a human could. "Come on, Alice, dear. We're leaving."

Alice stood up, waiting until the owner went back out into the store. "I'm so sorry, Esme!"

"Never mind," I said, laying a soothing hand on her shoulder. "But what did you see? Is something bad going to happen?"

"No, everything is fine," she said sheepishly. "I just saw Edward attacking Jasper, and it took me a moment to realize that they were playing." She drew another deep breath. "I'm okay now."

"Let's get out of here," Rosalie sighed. "Did you pick something yet?"

"Not yet," Alice said. "Everything is too big!"

"There's always the children's section," Rosalie said with a smirk- but a friendly one, it seemed.

"Let's go to one of the department stores," I suggested. "They'll have a bigger petite section, and then we can pick out some things for Jasper, as well."

We paid for the blue dress and went to put it in the car before we headed into the department store.

"Shoes first," Rosalie announced. "And then underwear."

Alice's eyebrows jumped up into her hair. "I've never really thought much about underwear before," she admitted. "I mean, I always gave you all your privacy, so I don't really know anything about that."

"It's all right," I said. "I'll be able to-"

"_I'll _handle that part," Rosalie said firmly. "And the shoes. You could get some things for Jasper- he's a size twelve shoe. Why don't we meet back here in a little while?"

I agreed, and they dashed off at human speed toward the shoes, giggling about lingerie and looking for all the world like the sisters I hoped they would be. I moved on to the men's section, picking out a few shirts for Jasper. He looked to be about Edward's size, if a bit broader in the shoulders. I also chose three pairs of slacks- just a bit longer than Edward's, two belts and some socks, underthings, a sweater vest, and some summer shirts. I even found a winter jacket on sale. I would hold off on finer things, for now; he might not like that sort of thing, and I really wasn't sure how he would take it if I dumped too much on him.

"Pardon me, ma'am, but has your husband tried these yet?"

I turned around to see a salesclerk waving at me with one hand, lifting up a pair of denim pants with the other. I was about to explain that I was shopping for my son, but it was simpler not to.

"Oh, thank you!" I said. "But he's a doctor."

"It doesn't matter what he does!" she said brightly. "Waist overalls are the newest fashion, for any man! Perfect for leisure, and they hold up better than anything. Men of all trades have been wearing them in Europe for the last couple of years."

I stepped closer, rubbing the coarse blue fabric with distaste. Carlisle might not bother much with his appearance, but even _he_ would laugh at being dressed like a factory worker or a cowboy. Still, if the fabric held up like it seemed it might, it would be perfect for hunting. I tugged gently at the stiff cotton, pleased with its resilience.

"I'll take eight pairs," I announced, rattling off the sizes and asking for two in each. The salesclerk fumbled for her pencil, and I repeated the sizes again, deciding to get a third pair for Emmett. Rosalie and Alice walked up to me as she left, their arms loaded with shoeboxes and tiny lingerie bags.

"What is _that_?" Rosalie asked, nodding toward the fabric in my hand.

"I thought Carlisle and the boys might like to try them for hunting. The salesclerk said they're becoming very popular, even for men who don't need them for work."

Alice's eyes unfocused for a moment, and she wrinkled her nose to match Rosalie's disapproval. "It looks like we'll all be wearing them eventually," she said, "though I can't imagine _why_. Ugh!"

Rosalie frowned as well. "I guess I can see where they'd be good for hunting, but they're hideous! Why would I ever wear something like that?"

"Women have worn waist overalls before, Rosalie," I reminded her. "Remember when we saw those Lady Levi's in that one magazine?"

"That was an ad for a dude ranch, Esme!"

The salesclerks brushed by us, her arms full of the boys' pants I had requested. "Excuse me," I said, catching her attention. "Do you have any of these in your ladies' department?"

"Not in stock," she answered. "I don't get too many requests for those. But I could order them, if you like."

I nodded. "I'll get two pairs each for the three of us." Rosalie huffed in disapproval, but she grudgingly gave her size after I gave mine. "Alice is new to our family," I explained. "You'll need to take her measurements."

"You may need a girl's size," the clerk said to Alice as she slipped the tape off of her neck. "Hold still, now." Alice froze into an uncomfortable-looking statue as the clerk knelt to measure her.

"Don't forget to breathe, dear," I said quietly.

Alice inhaled and exhaled nervously. "I've never touched a human before," she whispered back over the woman's head. "Except to kill them, of course."

"Alice!" I hissed in alarm. "Some humans have better hearing than others!"

Alice clamped her mouth shut, forgetting to breathe again the rest of the time. Rosalie just shook her head in embarrassment. It seemed that we would need to review the human charade a bit more with our Alice.

"I am _not_ wearing those," Rosalie whispered as the salesclerk scurried off.

"Just give them a try, dear. After all, Alice saw that we would all be wearing them eventually, and it's important for us to fit in with the times."

"Over my dead body!"

"Exactly!" Alice laughed.

.

.

.

We continued on until all the stores had closed. After the waist overalls incident, Rosalie and I gave Alice a quick review of the things that you really shouldn't say in front of humans, whether you thought they were listening or not. Then Rosalie perked up as we moved on to select Alice's clothes, deciding that her new sister was a "winter". We spent the rest of the evening shopping for Alice herself, and she enjoyed this new kind of "hunt" to the fullest, trying very hard not to use her visions. The only other thing we got for Jasper was a pair of sunglasses, in the hopes that he would soon be ready to start being around humans.

It was so wonderful to see the two girls getting along so well- _MY two girls_, I thought proudly. I worried a bit about the "confrontation" Alice had foreseen. I thought once or twice about calling home to see how it was going, but she reassured me that everything would be fine.

It seemed that our little family really _had_ just turned into a big family. I was sure there would be bumps in the road, and it would take us all some time to adjust to each other, especially in terms of Alice's and Jasper's gifts. And it seemed like Jasper might need some time before he was really ready to relax around all of us, to trust us and feel at home. And, truthfully, I felt a little nervous about him as well, now that he wasn't calming me anymore. Not that I worried about what he might do, so much as I worried whether he would be happy living with us. But it was obvious that Alice meant the world to him, literally. And it was clear that Alice was having the time of her life, being here. So maybe he would be all right. I would do my best to make him feel welcome, starting with the clothes.

I had five children, then. Five! And to think that I had thrown myself off that cliff, because of the emptiness inside of me. As dear as my children were, they could never replace the child I had lost. And this life wasn't perfect, not by a long shot. But this second chance had brought me so much joy, right from the moment I awoke and saw Carlisle standing there, looking nervous and hopeful as he held his hand out to me. I found a love that I had only dared dream about, as a human. I also found a son waiting for me, nearly a man himself but quietly aching for a mother's love. The fact that I had technically died hardly mattered; it was clear, even on that first day, that my true life was just beginning.

And now here I was, with as full a home as any mother could hope for. My heart swelled with love for our two new children, and with that old familiar hope, that Edward would find love someday. Maybe it was too much, to hope for a sixth child, but I hoped nonetheless. My life had felt complete again and again, as our family had grown. Surely it was all right to hope that someday, it would become complete just one more time.

But for now, I would leave the future to the future- or to Alice, as the case may be. For now, I would just count my blessings- all six of them.

* * *

**And thus Alice's love of shopping was born! A little fluffier than my usual fare, but I hope you all liked it. :)**


	13. 1949: Glory Days

**I'm glad you all liked the Esme outtake :) She's so sweet, isn't she? Now, meanwhile, at the other end of the spectrum...**

* * *

**Maria POV**

"Get the last one," I ordered. "And hurry up. This reek is making me sick."

Paul nodded and disappeared. We had spent most of the night killing, and it would probably take a week to get the smell out of my hair. Back when I used to delegate this particular unpleasantness, I thought that the smoke had a sweet, breezy smell; but up close like this, the purple fog was oppressive. The bonfire was belching it out heavily now, with the addition of Carmena's pieces a moment ago. I moved back a few feet, my muscles twitching in warning as the fire grew bigger.

It had been one of the worst years yet. I hadn't even gotten the chance to try out my latest bunch of newborns in battle; they were just too wild, too uncontrollable. I had finally stooped to executing one of them in front of the others last week, and even _that_ hadn't calmed them down. I had flattered and threatened and promised and punished, but they were hopeless. It was time to wipe the slate clean, and start over. Again.

Sometimes, on nights like this, I was sick of it.

I wouldn't lose sight of my priorities, though. This was the only purpose I had left: vengeance. I had only had twenty-eight years with my mate… twenty-eight years too long, as far as our enemies had been concerned. Our coven had been a relatively peaceful one, and all our parents wanted to do was keep the territory that they had held for more than three centuries. We never tried to expand, and we never fought unless challenged.

Why couldn't they have just left us in peace?

I supposed I understood… now. My creator's creator had killed the mate of the leader of the Arizona coven, back in 1645. That was all the reason they needed. It didn't matter that none of us had actually been alive at the time; we were in the way, and our venomline was enough to doom us. I think they actually let me escape on purpose; they were sadistic like that.

Their mistake.

I was still scrambling to get Monterrey back for a third time. It was a strategic location, if I ever wanted to reach my goal. But it was more than that- all I wanted was my home, and all I needed was to walk right up to that piece of Arizona filth, my army at my back, and dismember him as slowly as possible. I would give each of my soldiers a piece of him to hold, and we would have a good time, letting him suffer in twenty places at once. Maybe for two days, if I could get my men to stop feeding for that long. Then we would have a party, complete with bonfire, and the state of Arizona would bleed itself dry for us… every party needed refreshments, after all. Then I would be at peace. _Then_ I could rest. But until that day came, I would fight. I would fight, lie, cheat, kill, and drink my way through the centuries, until I got satisfaction. I _needed_ satisfaction, and I needed power to get it.

The trouble was, I was no closer to my goal than I had been thirty years ago. In fact, I was further from it. After Jasper deserted, I was only able to hold onto Monterrey for another three months. I had always known that he was valuable, but I didn't realize _how_ valuable until I didn't have him anymore. Without his gift to keep the newborns semi-pacified, I had to execute a good half of the ranks, just to keep things manageable. And I had to do it _myself_. The smoke had been seen by a scout from the Guatemala coven, and that was that. I had been lucky to escape alone. The old vendetta had been reborn that night: get Monterrey back. Get _anything_ back. I couldn't even contemplate taking on Arizona until I had the bloodfields of Texas and Northern Mexico under my command. I had been careful to stick to the western coast of Mexico since then, quietly building a new army each year, experimenting with the size. Apparently, I wasn't much good at keeping more than ten around at a time. And to keep that many required one or two veterans from the previous year, to help me get the blood and keep things under control. This year had been particularly bad; the only fighting they had seen was among themselves. Another twelve months, _wasted_.

I was far enough away from the fire that I could smell Paul coming. He was reciting his lines, luring the last of the newborns closer to the fire, closer to me.

"And believe me, your strength has become legendary," he said soothingly in Carlos' ear. "Maria herself told me that you're the only one who she trusts for this mission."

"Where are the others?" Carlos asked, eyeing the fire worriedly. I usually kept my newborns unaware of the danger of fire, to make cleanup day easier. But the public execution last week had been a mistake. Carlos, and the others before him, knew what fire meant to our kind. He was almost twice my size, and always shirtless; we could never find humans big enough to clothe him properly. When I had changed him, I had thought this was it; this was going to be the year. But as it turned out, Carlos was only good at one thing; picking fights with his fellow soldiers. What a waste of good blood.

Paul laughed, slapping Carlos on the back like a true friend. "She sent them on a different mission," he said, leaning in conspiratorially. "She wanted the humans buried farther away this time. You, my friend, are the only one _not_ on digger duty tonight."

Carlos smiled shakily as Paul steered him closer towards me. I stepped out of the shadows, and Carlos tensed.

"Carlos," I purred. "I've got a job for you. And if you do well, you'll be _swimming_ in blood."

That was all it took. Carlos stood at attention, or a weak approximation of such. This was another thing I missed about the glory days with Jasper: the respect. He had had all sorts of tricks to keep our soldiers in line, but his gift notwithstanding, his example had actually been his greatest asset. He had carried himself so well, in those first few years. Our newborns had been… well, newborns, but at least he had gotten them to have at least an inkling of pride in themselves. Jasper's speeches had been the stuff of legend, even after he stopped believing his own words. He himself had never had the stomach for the realities of war, but at least he never let it show in front of the newborns. He just kept inspiring them, long after his own inspiration had died. If anything, he worked harder at it. He wanted to make their worthless lives worth something, knowing how short they would be. He seemed to think that if he worked hard enough with them, that I would spare them, let them "die honorably in battle", as he liked to put it. Sentimental fool. At least he never shirked his duty, or let the others see his weakness- he was lethal, and he made the others lethal. He made them believe in themselves- something I had once ridiculed him for. Now I saw how right he had been.

As the years went on, Jasper had suffered more and more, as his gift grew stronger. He was always complaining about feeling the humans' fear and horror, and feeling the newborn's sense of betrayal at cleanup time, and blah, blah, blah. I reminded him, over and _over_, that we all had a price to pay for victory. And when he stopped complaining, I was satisfied. I had thought he was finally ready to face reality again.

But then that idiot Peter had deserted, and Jasper just _let him go_. He had _known_ that Peter wasn't disposable; he wasn't valuable in the sense that Jasper was, but he was indispensible. Jasper knew that. And he had just _stood_ there, and watched his "friend" run off with his useless mini-mate. Jasper had waited several hours before coming back to the rest of us, and reporting the desertion with a trace of smugness; he had purposely given Peter time to get out of reach. Of course, he had paid the price for his treason- a far gentler one than he deserved. If it had been anyone else, I would have let the others tear him to shreds. But as morose as he had become, Jasper was still my greatest asset. I settled for merely scarring him; a slap on the wrist. It wasn't like he wasn't already covered in scars, anyway. Life went on, and he got back to work. He knew he had gotten off easy.

But that's the trouble with leaving traitors alive; you can't trust them. He got even more pathetic after that. His moods darkened further, which of course darkened my own. It wasn't _my_ fault he couldn't keep his gift to himself. He would go weeks at a time without speaking to anyone, except in training. He spent far too much time alone, staring off at nothing. I knew that it was only a matter of time before he would turn the others against me. He had already betrayed me once, and as much as I wanted to deny it, he was probably going to do it again. It was exactly what I would have done, if it were me. I knew I had to act. The trouble was, I couldn't kill him alone, and it was difficult to set anything up with the others without him feeling us out.

He saved me the trouble, in the end. One night he was there, and when the sun rose, he was gone. No farewell, no mutiny, nothing. Just gone. I had lived in absolute terror for the year that followed, certain that he had defected to the one of the neighboring covens, that he would lead an attack against me. As the months passed, and no attack came, I relaxed and got back down to business. But _this_ is how things were turning out, without Jasper at my side. _This_ is what he had left me with. A yearly gaggle of worthless newborns, no territory, and having to do my own dirty work.

Traitor.

"And what's more," I said, stepping closer to Carlos, "this mission comes with a special reward: feeding alone."

A happy growl rumbled in Carlos' throat, and he nodded eagerly, standing taller. Feeding alone was one of the best positive motivators I used: the rare chance to feed at your own pace, without having to defend your kill. To do whatever you liked with the humans you were given, and no questions asked. Carlos had been given this particular reward only twice; he was one of the stupider ones.

Paul silently assumed his position behind Carlos, who had all but forgotten his comrade, and the fire off to our left. Paul's job tonight had been to hold, while I beheaded. The signal was when I said "the mission is". He gave me the nod, telling me he was ready.

"Carlos," I whispered, leaning closer. "The…"

I paused, frowning as I stared at Carlos' enormous biceps. We shouldn't have saved him for last- we should have kept another of the Novembers around a little longer, so that I wouldn't have to help. It was a matter of personal pride that I had no visible scars, and I wanted to keep it that way.

Paul blinked, his hands frozen halfway to Carlos' shoulders. _Well?_ he mouthed to me.

Oh, what was the use? It wasn't worth risking my complexion to get rid of this one. And Carlos was strong, even with his deterioration. Maybe he _should_ be left to "die honorably in battle", as Jasper would have put it. I could keep him and Paul around as I started up the next batch. In fact, that might be better; if I felt, later on, that Carlos was manageable enough, I would get him to end Paul for me. That way, once I started up again, I wouldn't have a lieutenant who knew too much, like Paul did now.

"Forget it," I snapped, walking back toward the fire. Paul snatched his hands back down to his sides as Carlos turned around, looking confused and thirsty.

"I want the blood," he growled. "Now what's the mission?"

"Quiet. There may have to be a change of plans. Let me think for a minute." I started pacing, and Paul quietly ordered Carlos back to the camp. He waited a few moments before spinning to face me.

"Why are you keeping him?" he demanded. "I thought we were going to start over."

"I said _quiet_!" I hissed, feinting toward him. He jumped back and returned to the camp himself, muttering as he went. Fantastic. Now I had a thirsty three-hundred pound brute who was waiting for a reward that I couldn't deliver on, and a lieutenant who had just seen me have a moment of weakness, of uncertainty. Not a good combination. They would both need to be ended now, and I wasn't in a position to end either of them. I stormed back toward the camp after them; I couldn't give them the chance to be alone together. Paul would tell Carlos the truth, and then I would be the one in the fire. I had to think of something, and fast.

This was absurd. I wouldn't have these problems, if Jasper were here. I wouldn't, not for a second, let liabilities like this exist. And even if I did, Jasper would catch them the moment they started to plot. What I wouldn't _give_ to go back to those days, back in our glory in Monterrey. That was back when Jasper didn't question everything I did, back when he was only too happy to drown himself in the spoils of victory. That was before his gift had grown strong enough to torment him, before the Peter fiasco. Before he had become a brooding, mutinous burden. Before he had become a liability, himself.

At least, that was what I had thought at the time. He had been gone almost ten years now, and I hadn't heard anything about one of the covens suddenly growing in power. It seemed that he hadn't defected at all; he had simply deserted. He had just run away, like Peter. And it was actually in keeping with the weariness that had been growing on him for the second half of his tenure. He was probably out there alone somewhere, nomadic and _free_. Which meant that he knew the truth now, that our Southern Wars were really just that: southern.

He had heard the term once during battle, back when he was new; thankfully, he had slaughtered his opponent before asking any more questions. Innocent, stupid boy that he was, he came back and asked _me_ what it meant. Keeping myself as calm as possible, I told him that every region of the worldwide conflict had its own name: the Southern Wars, the Chinese Wars, the Himalayan Wars. I had come up with that particular lie on the spot, and it was so ludicrously funny that my emotions gave nothing away. Jasper bought it hook, line and sinker. I was just glad that he had never bothered to ask again, because I probably wouldn't have been able to pull it off a second time, not with the way his gift had grown after his newborn year.

It didn't matter now; he had long since found out the truth. And the fact that he hadn't come back to kill me –either alone or with his own army- meant that he had either gotten himself killed, which was very unlikely, or that he had just decided to wash his hands of the whole business, and live in peace.

_Peace!_ As if he had any _business_ surviving apart from me! I was his creator, and he owed me his life three times over now! I had spared him from the slow decay of mortality. I had spared him from the 1863 crop. And I had spared him a third time after the Peter thing, when I had every right to end his miserable, treacherous life. I had spared him all these times, because he had been valuable. I had never had a better right hand, a better fighter, a better lieutenant. And now, ten years later, I could see, beyond the shadow of a doubt, how _truly_ valuable he had been. I truly couldn't do this on my own. I was _never_ going to get anywhere without him.

I needed him.

The plan formed itself quickly, as I took the last steps back toward camp. I had never been a patient woman before, but there was a first time for everything. I would find him, if it took the rest of the twentieth century. I was free, for the moment; no territory to speak of, and I would be travelling light, with just Paul and Carlos along for the ride. I would tell him that everything had been a misunderstanding, that we had just needed some time apart to cool off. I would remind him of the glory days of Monterrey, and how richly he had fed back then. I would promise him anything he wanted: blood upon blood, his own territory, more direct control over his men, the right to hunt for himself, anything. I would even promise him my body, if it came to it- not that he had ever fallen for that one before. He _was_ an empath. But I would do whatever it took to get him back home, where he belonged.

There was the small matter of him not wanting to come back, but that was where Carlos and Paul would come in. If he was alone, and refused to come along, we would dismember him and _take_ him back home. I would leave him in pieces until he _begged_ to be allowed back into my service. And if he had found a mate, so much the better. I would bide my time, and have Paul and Carlos kill her, and have them make it look like the Arizona coven had done it. It would be tricky, and I would have to avoid him asking me directly whether I was involved, but it could be done. Then he would have some _real_ motivation to keep fighting. Then, he would finally understand.

Paul and Carlos drew apart quickly as I approached, with Paul looking guilty and Carlos looking afraid. Damage control first, then. This would be a gamble, but the odds were in my favor. Paul had only told Carlos the truth a moment ago, and it seemed like I had interrupted before Carlos had the chance to take it all in. He would, in his uncertainty, be unsure whether to move against me, or defend me. I snapped my gaze back over to Paul, who swallowed: guilty as charged. And the fact that he wasn't attacking immediately meant that he didn't know if he could count on Carlos yet. My odds had just gone up.

This was going to be too easy.

"You've told Carlos about how we killed the others, then?" I said, looking pleased. Paul opened and shut his mouth, completely thrown off guard. "Good. Then I hope you realize, Carlos, that I decided to keep you alive not out of charity, but out of necessity. There _is_ a mission, but it's far greater than anything _Paul_ knows about. And it will take some time. But when we're through, feeding alone is going to be the least of your rewards."

"Fine words," Paul said carefully. He edged toward my left slowly, and Carlos sucked in his breath, looking as uncertain as I had hoped.

"I wasn't speaking to _you_, Paul," I said seductively. "I was speaking to Carlos. This mission doesn't require three. Especially when one of those three is someone I'm not sure I can trust."

Now Carlos was really confused, and Paul was horrified. He was only two years old, himself, and as far as he knew, this was the first time I had ever formed an army. He believed that I had handpicked him from the start, that I had never loved before him, that we would rule together.

Idiot. Now that I was going to have Jasper back, he would be the first to burn.

"Of course," I continued, turning my back to them, "I would _like_ it to be three. It would make success that much more likely. But I can't be looking over my shoulder every second, Paul." I spun around and attacked, pinning him to the ground by his throat. As I had known he would, Carlos darted around me, gripping Paul's head and waiting for my command. I sat up on top of him, pinning his hands down.

"I would never betray you," Paul gasped, his eyes wild. "I was just… you didn't stick to the plan. I was afraid."

"And you should be," I hissed. Carlos gripped Paul's head harder, and he shrieked, struggling uselessly. "This world is full of dangers, gentlemen. I am far older than either of you know, and I have spared you both from the horrors of War, until now. But times are changing, and it is time for us to act. We are going to build the greatest army this land has ever seen. We will retake Mexico, and beyond. We will thrive, and our banquet will stretch from ocean to ocean. But in order to do that, we need to go on a little trip first. I wonder how many of us there will be?"

"Three!" Paul shouted. "Maria, please!"

I pretended to consider for a moment, letting him beg a bit more. Then I sighed delicately as I stood back up. "It looks like we'll have some company, Carlos." Carlos released Paul, who jumped to attention. Now that was more like it.

"What kind of a trip?" Carlos asked.

"We need to find a man called Jasper," I explained. "I created him, back in 1863. He is the greatest fighter that the Wars has ever seen. He is also an empath, and his gift enables him to control the emotional instabilities in newborns, and to strike fear in his opponents during battle." I would need to slowly work up to the truth if I was going to bring them North… and if I was going to get them anywhere near Jasper's gift.

"Where is this Jasper?" Carlos asked distastefully.

"He is retired from combat," I said grandly. "But as his creator, I have decided that his retirement is over."

Both men grinned, both at my obvious lack of romantic interest in Jasper, and in the new level of trust they thought I was putting in them. "And where will we find him?" Paul asked.

"As far from here as possible, I imagine. We will start at the top, and work our way down. Gentlemen, we're going to Canada."

* * *

***ominous music***

**So... yes, the Calgary incident will be in the 1950 story :) Thank you to ColdOnePaul for this awesome idea! Also, thanks to Chicory for her story, _Fear of Fire_, which is also about the Calgary incident, and very well done (at least the parts I've read so far). Her writing is a bit darker than mine, but we are agreed on one thing: I highly doubt that Maria just "happened" to be in Canada.**


	14. 1950: Barely Human

**This is just a fun idea that's been bouncing around in my head for a while. Remember back in Chapter 4 of 1950, when Carlisle made (and won) that bet with his coworkers, over whether Rosalie and Emmett would soon be moving back home? I wondered, at the time, whether it was too out of character, but decided to keep it because it was just so funny. And let's face it, Carlisle is only twenty-three. He can't be the responsible father _all_ the time. **

**But just for kicks, I thought it would be fun to peek in and see what caused him to make such an uncharacteristic move. Turns out he had overheard his coworkers talking about him in the doctor's lounge, commenting on how inhumanly perfect his life was. So he made the bet in an attempt to appear a little more human. And just for fun, let's peek in via an original character's point of view. Ken is the same doctor who later sent Carlisle home, when he suddenly "came down with the flu".**

**Ken POV**

What a night.

I shoved open the door to the doctor's lounge, all too glad to leave the noise and stink of the ER behind me. I peeled off my lab coat and stethoscope, tossing them onto the back of my chair and cracking my neck as I opened the refrigerator. I took out a root beer and guzzled the whole thing in one go, wishing the "root" part was nonexistent. What a _night_. How did these people manage to injure themselves so creatively? I mean, how does a man manage to impale his own hand with a tent stake? How did that kid manage to stuff _three_ marbles up his nose at once? The worst part was, it was still just three a.m. I had one of those headaches that felt like someone was tightening a vice around my temples. I eased down into one of the chairs around the table, leaning my head back and wishing I had the energy to get up and turn the lights off.

But no sooner had I closed my eyes than the door banged open again. Blasted energetic residents…

"Ken! Thought I'd find you hiding in here."

"Just be a good boy and turn the lights off, would you?" I grumbled.

Scott laughed and ignored my request as he got his lunch out of the fridge. Or dinner, or whatever it was you ate at three a.m. He sat opposite me, and the smell of liverwurst filled the room as he cracked open a sandwich. "Aren't you hungry?" he asked around a mouthful.

"Starved," I sighed. "But Blanche has me on a diet again. She packed me rabbit food."

Scott shook his head. "Can't say as I blame her," he joked, waving his sandwich toward my paunch. "You packed on what, twenty pounds since I started here?"

"Funny." I pulled out a cigarette; at least Blanche hadn't gone off the deep end about _that_. I lit up and leaned back in my chair again, aiming a smoke ring right at Scott's face. He coughed, waving it away.

"Forget the rabbit food," he said around another mouthful of liverwurst. "What you need to do is kick _that_."

I rubbed my temple with the three fingers that weren't holding my cigarette. "What?"

"Smoking. Didn't you read last month's JAMA? It causes lung cancer."

"Does not."

"It was right there in black and white! Puts tar in your lungs."

"Listen. Kid." I took a deep drag, smiling tiredly as I shot him another smoke ring. "The AMA's always looking for the latest trend. And if there isn't one, they start one. This thing about smoking and cancer is just another fad. It'll pass."

"Well you won't catch _me_ tarring my lungs."

"That's because you're young and impressionable. Stop reading magazines and use your head, kid. I smoke a pack a day, and I just ran a marathon last year. Do I look like I'm about to keel over? You young whippersnappers need to save your passion for your practice, not for passing fads."

"What about Dr. Cullen? I've never seen him light up, and he's at least two years older than me."

I coughed out a laugh, sitting up straighter. "Carlisle? Man's barely human, Scott. Why should he need cigarettes?"

His brow wrinkled; like all of his fellow residents, he worshipped the ground Cullen walked on. "What do you mean?"

"I mean his life is squeaky clean. Great house, no debt, perfect kids, brilliant on the job, never gets sick, body of a Greek god… and have you ever _seen _his wife?"

Scott's eyes glazed over; he had seen her, all right. I had met Esme Cullen last year at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new Children's Ward, and I was _still_ recovering. "I'm telling you, the whole family is right out of a magazine. Carlisle himself could be a supermodel, along with the rest of them. Why shouldn't he keep his lungs squeaky clean, too? When you've got a perfect life, you don't need a pack a day to keep yourself sane. To say nothing of brandy…"

As if on cue, the door opened quietly, and Carlisle appeared. He seemed worried about something, his perfect face shadowed as he shifted over to the cabinets. He couldn't even walk like a normal person. Didn't he ever get tired?

"Good evening," he said to us, nodding politely. Scott sat up a little straighter.

"Evening, Dr. Cullen," he said, for once speaking without food in his mouth. "Everything all right?"

"Yes… just some family matters on my mind," he said serenely. He pulled his lunch/dinner out of the cabinet, somehow making this mundane task look like a graceful dance. He sat beside me, taking out his usual thermos: Esme Cullen wasn't just drop-dead gorgeous. She was also a gourmet cook- naturally- and treated him five days a week to a hot meal at work, while the rest of us were chewing on liverwurst and rabbit food. Was there anything about this man's life that _wasn't_ perfect? I groaned in envy as he opened the thermos, filling the lounge with the tempting aroma of chili. Blanche could learn a thing or two from Esme Cullen, about how to how to properly fill a man's stomach.

"Family trouble?" Scott asked hopefully, flashing me a _There, you see?_ look.

Carlisle sighed, staring down into his thermos. "My daughter. She and her husband are coming for a visit this weekend. Edward – my youngest- is having his White Coat ceremony tonight at Dartmouth, and she wants to be there."

"Hey, that's great!" Scott said. "Another doctor in the family."

Carlisle smiled. "Yes, I'm very proud of my son."

"But what?" I prodded, eager to see what could cause the great Carlisle Cullen to feel less than perfect. "What's so bad about your daughter visiting?"

"I'm afraid it may end up to be more than a visit," he said sheepishly, digging into his thermos with another frown. I hardly ever saw Carlisle eat anything, now that I thought about it. He saw me watching him, and took a big bite of chili. He chewed as though his life depended on it, swallowing with gusto and licking his lips. "Rosalie's husband is a good man, but he has absolutely no control over his household. She's been spending them into the ground, and I'm worried that this 'visit' is going to turn out to be a permanent arrangement."

"There, you see?" Scott said triumphantly. "The man's human, after all."

Carlisle smiled, digging into the chili again. "We all have our difficulties, Scott; just wait until you've got children. Life is never as simple as it promises to be."

"You can't fool me, Cullen," I said, depositing my cigarette butt in the tray. "You're not like the rest of us mortals. I'll bet dollars to donuts your daughter is coming home for some _perfect_ reason. You know, like to show you her latest humanitarian award, or announce her latest book being published, or to tell you a grandchild is on the way."

A look of pain flashed across Carlisle's face, but when I blinked it was gone.

"_Grandchild_?" Scott echoed in disbelief. "I thought you were fresh out of Harvard, Dr. Cullen. How old's your daughter?"

Carlisle smiled again. "Rosalie's adopted, of course. So is Edward. My wife and I can't have children of our own." Scott opened his mouth to gloat again, but I kicked him under the table.

"I don't mean to complain," he continued. "I'd love to have our daughter back home- and Emmett is a fine young man. Esme would be over the moon if we had everyone under one roof. But a man wants his children to be independent, if they can."

"Darn right," I added. "My boy's still at home. The most I can get him to do is deliver papers and moonlight at the grocer."

"How old's he?" Scott asked.

"Thirty," I grumbled, and Carlisle laughed, giving me a commiserating smile. "Aren't you thirty yourself, Carlisle?"

He nodded, and I frowned back at him. "You don't look a day over twenty-five," I complained. "It's just not fair. Here my wife has me on a diet- again- and I can _still_ use my gut as a desk. And don't tell me your wife doesn't feed you, either. Where do you put it all?"

Carlisle sighed, scooping another spoonful of chili out of the thermos and eating it. He didn't seem to enjoy this bite as much as the first; in fact, he was starting to look a little sick. "I'll take that bet," he murmured, after swallowing loudly.

"What bet?"

"You bet me that my daughter isn't coming home because she's broke. I say she is."

I laughed, taking out another cigarette. "The sky is falling, everyone! Carlisle Cullen has just become a gambling man! Next thing you know, he'll be keeping a flask in that lab coat!"

"Human after all," Scott said, holding his sandwich aloft like a champagne glass.

"It's just a friendly wager," Carlisle said, looking contrite. "I suppose my son-in-law is starting to wear off on me."

"If you win this one, Cullen, he'll be wearing your shirts, too," I joked. "All right, it's a bet. Fifty?"

Carlisle looked even more embarrassed. "Twenty."

I nodded, lighting up again and sending him a stream of friendly smoke. "You got it. Hey, you all right? You don't look so good."

Carlisle looked down into his thermos, looking sick indeed. "I think I may be coming down with that flu that's been going around," he admitted. "Not much appetite today." He screwed the lid back on the thermos with a sigh of relief- or fatigue, I guess. He was acting downright human today. "Guess I'll get back out there. Better kick that smoking habit, Ken, or you'll be liable to get lung cancer someday. Didn't you read that article last month?"

I harrumphed and shot a glare at Scott, who was doubled over with silent laughter. Carlisle stood, graceful as ever, but frowned and laid his hand on his stomach. He put his lunchbox away and headed, not back into the ER, but down the hall toward the restroom.

"What did I tell you?" Scott asked as he finished off his sandwich. "Human as they come."

.

.

.

When Carlisle got into work the next evening, he was wearing a smile that made all the nurses blush like schoolgirls.

"I take it I've won our little bet?" I asked, sauntering up to him at the nurses' station.

"No, you've lost it," he said proudly. "Emmett and Rosalie are back to stay, and I couldn't be more thrilled to have them. I believe you owe me twenty dollars."

I groaned, passing him the twenty. He tucked it into his lab coat and went to work looking well-rested and cheerful… more like a twenty-year old than an overworked ER doc. Still, it was nice to see Mr. Perfect dealing with some real life, for once.

Later that night, I heard two nurses giggling over their favorite doctor, Carlisle Cullen. Who else?

"And he's so _sweet_," the one whispered behind her clipboard. "Did you know he just donated twenty dollars to the Ladies' Auxilliary?"

"Of course he did," her companion gushed. "He's the most generous man I've ever met. Unlike _some_ doctors I know." They both shot me a rude glance, and moved on. I just shook my head in wry amusement, heading into my next patient's room. Carlisle Cullen might be human after all, but he sure made the rest of us look like something less.


	15. 1935: Joyful Duty

**This one is for Helena Mira, who requested an outtake of Carlisle's sermon at Rosalie and Emmett's wedding in 1935. So this corresponds to 1935, Chapter 16. I thought it might be fun to write original vows as well, and of course some Carlisle and Esme cuteness... needless to say, I cried while writing this. **

**Disclaimer: The italicized text used here is from the Book of Common Prayer, though not today's version. Carlisle has his human grandfather's 1549 version, and the modern spellings/grammar updates are Carlisle's (my) adjustment into today's English. I almost wrote the whole thing out in Early Modern, but Rosalie didn't like it. For my fellow linguaphiles out there who would like to see the original text (or, sort of the original text), just google "1549 book of common prayer matrimony" and click on the first result.**

* * *

**Carlisle POV**

As we approached the chapel, Emmett grew more nervous with each step.

"What if I step on her feet? What if I forget my vows? What if she changes her mind? What if-"

I reached up, laying my hand on his huge shoulder. "Emmett, everything is going to be fine. Please, relax."

He nodded and sucked in an enormous breath, forcing his shoulders down as he exhaled. Emmett was still a newborn, and his wedding jitters were no exception to the emotional vividness that marked this time. My own anxiety was quieter, but very real; I had never done this before. I had pieces of memories: my human father, performing the Solemnization of Matrimony often during the mid-seventeenth century. I remembered little of the ceremonies themselves, though, and I personally had never given so much as a Sunday sermon. This was new territory for me. I felt an awkwardness I hadn't felt in years. Was I really qualified to perform this marriage? Did my long years of peace and my efforts at humanity make up for what I was? For the fact that I had never actually been ordained?

Earlier this week, Edward and I had, quite by accident, fallen into our old debate. Redemption, atonement, the state of our souls… heavy words. And most of the time, they really didn't matter. My theology had, by necessity, gotten creative over the years- first, when I was forced to accept my new identity, and again, when I contemplated the possibility of creating others like me. And again, when I married a woman –legally dead, to my credit- whose husband was still living. Lying, forgery, and even outright fraud, were a daily part of my life now. When my loved ones committed accidental manslaughter from time to time, I smiled sadly and forgave them, assuring them that I understood. Two of my children had committed murder in the past, and I had accepted them back under my roof with open arms. I tampered with evidence, impeded investigations, and robbed morgues.

There was a part of me that was horrified at these things- a part of me that, if left unchecked, would leave me paralyzed, unable to reconcile my compromises with my good intentions… with my faith. But I was a man of action; I always had been. And now, as the leader of a growing family, I no longer had the luxury of spending years of deliberation on each difficult decision placed before me. Sometimes, I made the wrong decisions. But I always moved on, facing each new challenge with the greatest integrity I could muster. I chose, at every turn, to have hope. I had, having no other recourse, blended the worlds of fantasy and reality into a workable philosophy, and into a life that I felt worthy to be lived before God. I had only to look at my family, my vocation, my future with Esme, to know that I was trying my best… and that good things had come of that effort.

And now here I stood, daring to serve as God's priest in perhaps the most sacred ceremony of all. The binding of two hearts, in the sight of Heaven, giving my declaration of the endorsement of the Almighty: a weighty calling. In customary terms, I was not adequate to serve in this role. But then… my life hadn't been customary for quite some time. Beneath my anxiety, I felt a peace as I faced this sacred duty. Rosalie and Emmett meant the world to me, and I could think of no greater fatherly joy than to see them bound together in the holiest of ways. And I could think of no greater honor than being the one to see it done. I would pour myself into this role with humility and gratitude, as I had done with every other role I had assumed. Not gratitude for what I was: gratitude that I had lived to see this day.

The forest was suddenly filled the sound of classical piano. "That doesn't sound like Irina's style," Eleazar said curiously. "I thought she was playing for the ceremony."

"She was," I answered. "I suppose there's been a change in plans, though. That sounds like a recording."

We entered the chapel, and Emmett whistled as he took in the sight of the carpet, the altar, the piano, and the dance floor- complete with electric lanterns overheard. The air was now sweet with flowers. I led Emmett to his place, and straightened his tie one last time.

_Edward, we're ready_, I thought.

Eleazar gave Emmett and encouraging nod and took his seat on one of the benches. I picked up my father's Book of Common Prayer; it was time.

Kate came down the aisle first, her camera dangling below her bouquet. She laid her flowers on the altar and then turned to photograph the others as they came. Irina was next, and then Tanya, and then Carmen. They all laid their flowers on the altar in turn and took their seats. And then my breath caught, for she was here: the most beautiful woman in the world.

_Esme._

She floated down the aisle like the others had, but none could compare to her grace. Her gown was the softest shade of rose, her hair a crown. The moonlight glistened on her skin, its extra glow winking in and out as she passed below the shade of the trees. The floral sweetness in the air was immediately balanced by the warmer caramel of her scent, and she smiled at me. She spoke volumes with that smile: how proud she was, how blessed, how happy. I nodded my understanding.

She brushed my arm, just barely, on her way up to the altar. Her touch, even through the sleeve of my tuxedo, sent my cold heart pulsing with warmth. I turned to watch her, and the very corner of her lips twisted into a hint of a mischievous smile; she had done it on purpose! I waited until she had passed me again, and then I grabbed her shoulders, spinning her back around into my arms for a kiss.

"Don't think that's part of the ceremony," Emmett muttered beside us.

I released my wife and grinned back at him. I had to readjust my tie, while Esme tucked a loosened lock of hair back into formation as she took her place opposite Emmett. "It is now," I said to him under my breath. Esme had taken away my last trace of anxiety; somehow, she always knew when I needed that.

And not a moment too soon. The music swelled, and Edward and Rosalie turned the corner to come into sight at the back of the chapel. Our little audience stood to honor the bride, and what a sight she was: my daughter was radiantly beautiful. Not like an angel- that was reserved for Esme- but like a star, fallen from heaven with her shimmering brilliance still clinging to her. And as her eyes met Emmett's, she broke into a smile that was pure and shining. I glanced at my newest son, to find his mouth hanging unceremoniously open at the sight of his bride. I nudged his elbow, and he clamped his mouth shut again, just in time for Kate to snap a picture. As Edward and Rosalie approached us, her hand on his arm, I remembered. I remembered, with a brief stirring of shame, why I had first changed my daughter. I sent up a quick prayer of thanks, that my foolish plans had come to nothing. Better than nothing- they had come to _this_. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Rosalie and Emmett had been made for each other… and not by me. And I knew, with equal confidence, that Edward would someday find the young woman that been made for him. If anyone deserved the completion that true love brought, it was him. One such as Edward couldn't exist without such a hope promised.

Edward and Rosalie reached us, and Rosalie took a deep breath, giving me a shaky, grateful smile. Edward tenderly placed her hand in Emmett's, and then withdrew to stand behind his brother. I opened the Book and read the ancient words aloud, translating into Modern English as I went:

_Dearly beloved friends, we are gathered here today in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate instituted of God in paradise, in the time of innocent man, signifying unto us the mystical union that is between Christ and his Church: which in holy estate, Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and first miracle that he wrought in Cana of Galilee, and it is commended of Saint Paul to be honorable among all men; and therefore is not to be enterprised, nor taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding: but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God._

I closed the Book then. I would use its hallowed words again, later in the ceremony. But for now, my own words would be more appropriate. It would only be hurtful to read aloud the purposes of matrimony, the first of which was the procreation of children. And the vows would not come from the book, either; sickness and health, and hopefully, death, would have no bearing on this marriage. Though it would have been amusing to see the look on Rosalie's face if I were to call upon her vow to obey and serve her husband! In any case, Rosalie and Emmett had agreed to use the vows that Esme and I had whispered to each other in private after our own wedding, once Edward had taken the priest back to Brazil. But first, the sermon. I took a shallow breath, looking to Esme for courage. She nodded slightly, and I began.

"Emmett and Rosalie, you have come today to bind yourselves together in marriage. In the human world, this sacred matrimony is a covenant to transcend all others; the combination of two persons into one flesh, one family, one destiny. This covenant is a joyful one and a solemn one, holy unto God and binding in the sight of all men. It is the only covenant undertaken by humans, between humans, that is intended to last unbroken unto death.

"But your vows today are far stronger. You are not joining together for the mere span of a human life; you are each committing to travel eternity with the other. Today, you begin a journey together that, I pray, has no end at all. Your love is, by your very natures, powerful enough to withstand the test of time. I need not exhort you to be faithful to one another, nor to suffer one another. You are no longer humans, weak in heart and fickle in commitment. You are vampires, capable of a far deeper bond. You have found in each other your eternal mate, and your love cannot cool; it is final, absolute. It cannot be broken, not even by death. It cannot fade, cannot become false, cannot betray willingly.

"But I do exhort you to kindness, and to generosity, one to the other. You may not be human any longer, but you do carry human flaws. You will each be tempted, in your own way, to give your mate less than your full self, less than your full devotion, less than your constant encouragement. Your support of each other must be as tireless as your immortal bodies, as patient as your immortal minds. You will enjoy a passionate, young love for eternity, but beware. You are also capable, through your nature, of passionate anger, of passionate misery. By giving yourselves to each other, you also make yourselves vulnerable to each other. You have the power to both build up, _and_ to tear down your mate with equal ferocity. Along with your sacred commitment today, I want you both to recognize the sacred trust that this love gives both of you. You must choose, anew every day, to use that trust to help one another, and not injure one another.

"You will both continue to be tempted, also, by the darker side of your vampire nature. You must help each other, remind each other of the gentle choice that we with golden eyes make; and, when necessary, restrain each other from violence against the species from which you arose. You will never be alone in this last effort, however. You have both chosen to remain under my authority as your coven leader, and as your father. I humbly thank you for your trust. You have a mother also, and a brother and cousins: a whole family to support you, not only in your humane choice, but in your new marriage. We will, every one of us, do our part to honor and respect this joyful union of two so dear to us."

I took a deep breath as my voice failed me; this next part was going to be difficult. Esme dabbed at her eyes uselessly, but sent me another burst of courage with her smile.

"For you _are_ dear to me, Rosalie and Emmett. I may be expected some affection as your creator. But I have come to love each of you as my children, in a way that far surpasses the fleeting love of a human father. Rosalie…"

My voice failed once again. "Rosalie, you are the daughter that I was never going to have. You have brought such a lightness, such a depth into our lives, that we never expected. You have awakened places in my heart that I long thought dead. Your happiness, that I see in your eyes today, has been my constant prayer for two years. Your completion, which I see reflected in Emmett's heart today, has been Esme's hope for two years. We both, as your parents, know that our love is a help to you, but was never enough. None of us enter this life gladly, and none of us pretend that we do not, in some measure, wish to return to mortality. And this, indeed, has always been your particular burden: to yearn for a love that you thought would never come. But, Rosalie, this day has indeed come. I cannot speak of the joy that it gives me to see your dreams thus fulfilled."

Now Rosalie drew in a ragged breath, looking first at me and then staring up at Emmett as she gripped his hands. I turned to my son with a smile.

"Emmett. My newest son, and quite a surprise to us all! Imagine my shock when my daughter- who would never wish this life on anyone- ran up to me with you in her arms. I gave her the sad news that your mortality couldn't be helped, but she was adamant. I may be one of the most powerful, deadly creatures in the world, Emmett, but I could not resist my daughter's pleading eyes. Changed you were, and here you stand. I know I speak for all of us when I say you have made our lives brighter and happier. You have brought an energy into our household that has been missing these long years. But you have given us an even greater gift; you have brought my daughter happiness with your love. And you have been given a gift as well: the chance to start over with your angel. There is no doubt in my mind that you were created for one another. And Emmett, I do not speak of venom, nor of my own choice. I speak of design, of One more powerful than me. You and Rosalie are each other's perfect balance, each other's perfect answer; you always have been. You will complete her, gladden her, and worship her; she will complete you, temper you, and inspire you.

"This completion, that you bring to each other, is absolute. Let this ceremony today be the consummation of your love, your troth plighted before the consummation of your passion. For passion without love is commonplace. But love, properly bound and nourished, bears the fruit of passion in its eternal form. It is my great honor to perform this sacred duty today, and it is my great joy to see those I love so bound."

The record quieted at just the right moment, shifting into a gentle violin piece.

"Let us pray," I said in a clear voice. Rosalie handed her bouquet to Esme so that she could place her hands in Emmett's, and heads bowed in varying degrees of awkwardness. I opened the Book again, reading aloud the ancient words.

_O Eternal God, creator and preserver of all mankind, giver of spiritual grace, the author of everlasting life: Send Thy blessing upon these Thy servants, this man, and this woman, whom we bless in Thy name, that as Isaac and Rebecca, after bracelets and jewels of gold given of the one to the other for tokens o their matrimony, lived faithfully together; so these persons may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant between them made, whereof this ring is given, and received, is a token and pledge. And may ever remain in perfect love and peace together; and live according to Thy laws, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen._

I moved aside, and Emmett gave Rosalie his arm. They stepped up onto the stage and took the burning tapers from the altar, lighting the larger candle in the center with them. I heard a feminine sniffle or two behind me, but I did not look back; I was equally as moved. Rosalie and Emmett now extinguished the tapers in favor of the new light: their separate lives ending, their life together begun. A newer custom, and decidedly un-Anglican; a beautiful touch, I decided. They returned to their places below me.

"Edward and Esme, the rings, if you please."

I took the rings and clasped them together in the symbol of infinity, holding them aloft. "These rings are the visible symbol of the commitment that Rosalie and Emmett are making today. In a human ceremony, their circular form suggests an eternal love, and its eternal promise. For humans, this symbol is hyperbolic. But it holds a literal meaning to our kind." I took one last deep breath; this last part was a little controversial, but honest. "When we find our true mate and the bond that it gives, the love therein is designed to be truly eternal. It cannot be broken by time or by death. It cannot bear this separation, for it is not meant to do so."

I gave the rings to Rosalie and Emmett, who slid them halfway onto each other's fingers. They froze in their movement, locking eyes. They said together their vows, repeating each line after me.

"Here I pledge my eternal love, stronger than blood, stronger than venom. I pledge to cherish you, to honor you, to follow and defend you. My silent heart will beat only for you, and my cold countenance will warm only to you. I will journey this earth forever with you, until its ending or our own. If death take you, I will avenge and follow you. If death take me, I will await you. I will celebrate our love anew with each sunrise, and marvel in the glistening wonder of each day with you. I will seek your good with all my heart, and defeat all those who seek your peril. I will love you, first in my heart, forever. As God is my witness, I give you this ring as my promise; herein I plight my troth."

They slid the rings home, and joined their left hands. I laid my own hand upon theirs as I read the pronouncement and benediction.

_Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder. Forasmuch as Emmett and Rosalie have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same here before God and this company; and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to the other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving rings, and by joining of hands: I pronounce that they be man and wife together. In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. God the Father bless you. God the Son keep you. God the Holy Ghost lighten your understanding. The Lord mercifully with His favor look upon you, and so fill you with all spiritual benediction, and grace, that you may have remission of your sins in this life, and the world to come, life everlasting. Amen._

The chapel was silent; Emmett and Rosalie were frozen again, staring at one another in wonder. "Emmett, you may kiss your bride," I said with a gentle laugh.

He grinned hugely, lifting her veil and kissing her soundly. We all applauded, and I nudged the happy couple to turn and face their family, who applauded louder. After Kate's camera had been satisfied, we all took to the dance floor. First Edward played a couple of special songs, and then he shifted into a slow waltz. I tapped Emmett's shoulder, and after offering him my congratulations, I took my daughter in my arms.

"Thank you, Carlisle," she murmured into my shoulder. "Everything was perfect."

I spun her gently around, smiling at the moon's radiance on her skin. "A beautiful evening, for a beautiful bride," I told her. "I am so happy for you both, Rosalie. Truly."

We danced two more songs. All at once Rosalie was pulled out of my arms, to be replaced by Esme. I gathered her close to me, breathing in her scent.

"A fine sermon, Father Cullen," she said with sparkling eyes. "Especially considering it was your first."

"There's a first time for everything, Mrs. Cullen."

I pulled her face into my shoulder, but she turned to speak again. "He would have been proud," she said quietly.

I laughed, tucking her head under my chin. "I hope so. Though I hardly think he would have approved of my innovations. Especially the part about vengeance and death!"

"Only because he wouldn't have understood."

I nodded, my thoughts growing dark. "Esme, if anything should ever happen to me…"

She shivered in my arms, but looked up confidently. "If death take you, I will avenge and follow you. I will love you, first in my heart, forever."

I stilled our dancing, taking her face in my hands. I wished I could have given her some human platitude… extracted a promise that she would try to move on, that she would feel free to find love again.

But we were not human. I would not belittle her love like that. I couldn't.

"If death take you, I will avenge and follow you, Esme," I whispered reverently. "I will love you, first in my heart, forever."

We stared at each other, frozen, as the others danced around us. When we awoke, Edward was playing a different song. We began dancing again, turning to watch him as he played. Esme was missing the rhythm as she focused on her son.

"He will find her someday," I promised her. "I have no doubt."

Esme's forehead wrinkled in worry, but she smiled, still watching him. "I hope so," she sighed. "He has so much love to give." Her gaze moved over our families. Rosalie and Emmett were glued together in their own little world. Eleazar and Carmen were performing some complicated step, and the sisters were huddled together, giggling over something. Esme laid her head on my shoulder again.

"Have I ever thanked you for this life, Carlisle?" she asked dreamily.

"Only a few times," I said with a quiet chuckle.

"Thank you."

I pressed a kiss to her forehead, wishing I could weep. There were times when this life brought me great sorrow. But today, I felt only joy. My life was so full, so unexpectedly full. I glanced up into Heaven as I danced with my wife, swaying slower and slower; we had all the time in the world.

_Thank you._


	16. 1862: Christmas in Gray

**This is the first *still human* one-shot, hooray! It's technically an outtake from 1950, chapter 22, in which drunk Jasper playing the banjo with some enlisted men is mentioned... but really it's just a Christmas-coated snapshot into the week before Jasper is changed. This was inspired by a short story called _Valley Forge: 24 December 1777_, by F. Van Wyck Mason. **

**It's Christmas Day, 1862. The U.S. Navy has already captured the port of Galveston back in October, but hasn't actually occupied the city itself until the previous day (Christmas Eve). More Union Troops are pouring in, and it's clear that they've got their sights set on Houston- hence why the Confederacy is determined to take back the port. (something they never did before or after, I believe)**

**I've placed Jasper in the Fifth Texas Cavalry (aka Fifth Texas Mounted Rifles), which is called in to be a part of the Second Battle of Galveston, which will take place on New Year's Day. So this outtake takes place a week before that, when all the regiments are trickling in to prepare for the battle to retake Galveston. **

**Disclaime****r (for those who care): I've had to fudge canon**** just a bit here, to make the details work the way I want. Jasper implies to Bella in Eclipse that he was evacuating civilians from Galveston because of the *FIRST* battle for Galveston- which took place in October, as described above. However, I've chosen to place his evacuation mission (which doesn't actually take place in this scene) as following the *SECOND* battle of Galveston, which takes place on New Year's Day 1863. Here's why I'm choosing to use the second battle, and not the first:**

**-this makes his change be in 1863, as the Guide says (this wouldn't be possible if this was all during the first battle)**

**-I've always seen Jasper as cavalry, and the cavalry were only brought in for the second battle. There's no way a cavalry regiment would have been sitting around on a peninsula, just *happening* to be on hand when the port was taken.**

**-the first battle is boring and pathetic, and the second is really cool! And ****the Confederate Army wins the second battle against all odds, so this way Jasper can be in the battle as a Horse Marine and "die" a war hero :) Which means I can write a part two, which will detail the battle itself, his evacuation mission, and... well, you know how it ends!**

**-this has been a Christmas outtake in my head all along, which means it can't take place in October. So there.**

* * *

**Virginia Point, TX (seven miles from the island port of Galveston)**

**Christmas Day, 1862**

**Maj. Jasper Whitlock POV**

"Almost there," I said, scratching Patch between his sweaty ears. He snorted and shook his head, as if to say, _That's what you said twenty miles ago!_

"So I did," I murmured with half a smile. "But this time I really mean it. Look up yonder, boy- we're almost out of land." The Gulf of Mexico was looming large on the horizon now, just beginning to darken as the sun sank behind us. We were keeping a steady trot, chasing our lengthening shadow towards our goal. The Gulf grew larger, and I could finally make out a middling puddle, laying aside its near edge: Galveston Bay. The island between the two was a long, thin blade of land that looked like it would sink any minute. It hardly looked worth the trouble.

We reached Virginia Point at sunset. It had been a day's hard ride, and I was more than happy to swing out of the saddle and toss the reins to a waiting corporal. I cracked my neck, waiting as my commanding officer, Colonel Tom Green, dismounted at a more respectable speed.

"He likes oats, if you've got any," I told the corporal. He snapped a salute and waited while I gave Patch one last scratch between his ears. He nosed me hard in the chest, and I laughed quietly. "All right, all right. Just one. You earned it today, pal." I fished a cube of sugar out of my inside pocket and smiled tiredly as he lipped it out of my palm. His tail flicked my face in thanks as he was led away.

Colonel Green and I walked to the Fort in silence. Our new commander was a quiet man, so unlike his predecessor, Henry Sibley.

General Sibley was the reason I was a member of the Fifth Texas Cavalry. When I first laid eyes on him two years ago, I had just run off with nothing but Patch, four dollars in my pocket and my Pap's Enfield Rifle on my shoulder. I was wandering around San Antonio, trying to figure out how to enlist, when I heard a voice booming. I followed the sound and beheld a giant of a uniformed man, complete with a passion-red face and handlebar whiskers, preaching to the crowd about his newly formed Brigade. He would see Texas restored to her full glory, and beyond, he said. Come, boys, and carry the Lone Star to victory. We'll take New Mexico, and it won't stop there, no sir. The Federals are blockading our ports left and right, so we'll just slice our way through to the West. The gold mines of Colorado and California would just be a pit stop on the way to the Pacific. Once the Confederacy shakes off the chains of the Union, Texas will be the heart and soul of a proud land- and we'll get her ready to shine with gold. The Army of New Mexico needs you, lads. President Davis needs you. _Texas_ needs you! If you've got a horse, you've got a future with the Brigade!

It was like he was speaking right to _me_. I could just feel his excitement, his confidence, his righteous fury as he called us to join up. I hadn't given much thought as to where I was headed, before that; I just had to get away from my Pap and that broken-down, God-forsaken ranch of his. Of course I would enlist; what else was there to do? But I really hadn't thought much beyond Texas; Texas was the whole world. I couldn't care less what any rich politicians were jabbering about up in Washington and Richmond.

I was soon wearing gray and riding tall in the saddle, caught in the tide of Sibley's glorious destiny. And for a while, it seemed that we were unstoppable. Less than a year later, we were two and a half thousand strong, made up of three cavalry regiments; I had come in via the Fifth. We won the battle of Valverde, though we paid for it with a river of blood. We took Alberquerque, then Santa Fe. Moving up, we beat the Yankees senseless up near Pike's Peak; California gold was gleaming closer and closer. But soon after that last victory in Colorado, we were smashed in a raid and lost our entire supply train. We had never regained our numbers after Valverde, and we lost even more men in the raid. Our retreat back to Texas was long and hard. And _hungry_. When the remaining 900 of us made it back home earlier this summer, ragged and defeated, Sibley had been temporarily discharged of duty and ordered to Richmond to account for the disaster in Colorado. The Brigade disbanded, and the regiments melted back into their separate commands. Tom Green was bumped up to Colonel, new commander of the Fifth, and I to Major. Company A was to be my charge. The officer who oversaw my promotion had given me a suspicious look, but I had proven myself ten times over by then; he wasn't going to make a fuss over my obvious youth. I got a star on my collar, and I wore it with pride. Our regiment had taken a licking, to be sure, but there was still glory to be had. Sibley was due back any day, we had gotten some new recruits, and even the horses were nodding in their stables, itching to get back on the road. We got plenty of leave, and I had attended my first ball, awed by the colorful ladies who gushed over us. But like the horses, I was itching to get back into action; idleness didn't suit me. I just hoped the Brigade would come back together soon, and that we could reach the Pacific before the War ended.

But four months later, Sibley was still in Richmond, and here we were, heading _East_. The man walking beside me now was steadier than Sibley had been; more realistic. He was a Ranger who had won his stars in the War for Independence, back in the days of the Republic of Texas. Legend had it that his regiment had single-handedly captured Monterrey. Not for long, of course, but it was quite a feather in his hat. He had evolved with the times, and he understood now that the Confederate cause had to come first; Sibley had lost sight of that. But I really didn't see why we had been called in to deal with a puny island town. The Federals had taken ports before; why was this one so different?

"Well I'll be tarred and feathered," Green muttered under his breath. "They've discovered artillery."

We both paused, peering up at the embrasures. The walls were bristling with cannon, all aimed at the bay. I squinted out across the water, frowning when I saw the Union flotilla staring back at me. Six ships, just dark smudges on the water to my eyes. But if I had a closer look, I knew I'd see the open mouths of their guns. "Discovered, sir?"

He nodded up at the cannons. "Looked just like that three months ago. Trouble was, there was only _one_ cannon, and fifteen logs painted black. And that was _after_ the blockade had already begun! What a bunch of cotton-headed ninnies! And now it's up to us to take the noose back off their necks."

A thunder of hooves began rising in volume, and a cloud of dust rose behind us: the rest of the Fifth, Companies A and B. I looked over my shoulder, taking stock of the faces I knew so well. Half of them were younger and newer than me, now, their faces fresh and eager. This would be their first maneuver, whatever it was. The other faces looked tired and bitter. A third of us had drawn lots to spend Christmas at home, but that had been snatched away when Magruder's orders had come yesterday:

_To Colonel Thomas Green: Fifth Texas Mounted Rifles and your accompanying artillery will report to Maj. Gen. Magruder at Virginia Point with all haste. All leave suspended until further notice._

So here we were. But what possible use could an entire regiment of cavalry serve at a port? We had our own battery of howitzers, but Company C had stayed back with them; they'd be another day at least. Not that I was complaining; I didn't have anywhere to go for Christmas. But a good lot of my boys had really been disappointed by the news.

"Why _are_ we here, sir?" I asked.

We started walking again, nodding as the gate guards saluted and followed us in. There was a scrawny little Christmas tree just inside, decorated with stars cut from tin cans. "Galveston's too valuable," Green told me quietly. "It's a straight shot to Houston. A blockade is one thing, Whitlock, but Lincoln's had his eye on Texas all along. If the Union Army gets the railroad, we'll have bigger problems than a bunch of Yankees thumbing their noses at us from a twenty-mile-long piece of dirt."

A year ago and a half ago, I might have spit out some hot-blooded protest, straight out of Sibley's manual: Not Texas! They'll never set foot on our soil, not with the Brigade around! No, sir!

But I had seen too much, and done too much, in that year and a half. I knew that anything could happen. Heroes could be brought low. Your best friend could catch a musket ball in the ribs and be dead in your arms ten seconds later. Our enemies could, just maybe, be boys like us who didn't even know what they had been signing up for. We could… lose. Maybe not that last one- the War was still going well. But that didn't mean any of us would be around to see the day when Lincoln and his ilk caved in.

"Is the town occupied, sir?" I asked.

He shook his head. "It's just the U.S. Navy, at this point, out in the water. Their blockade's been up for some time; taking the port was just the latest cinch in their belt. But I've heard tell that Cook never got to finish his evacuation back in October- which means there's still civilians on the island. There hasn't been any traffic in or out these past two months, not with that flotilla training their guns on the town. My guess is, we've either been called in to finish evacuating them, or we're to shore up the guard here at the Fort while they wait for infantry reinforcements. I hope there'll soon be a naval battle to push the blockade further out, but I imagine we'll be long gone by that time."

We were ushered into the commander's office, which was an unholy mess of paperwork. General Magruder had only been here a few days, and was obviously still trying to make sense of the notes left by his predecessor, who had been sent home in disgrace. Magruder was a tall, heavy man. Even with his back halfway turned to us, it was obvious he was brimming with energy, despite his gray hair. His ponderous carriage and huge handlebar mustache made me think of Sibley. But the flickering light from the gas lamps showed a profile that was far more experienced, far more… realistic, I hoped, if he was to hold our lives in his hand for a while.

Green saluted beside me, and I followed suit. "Colonel Thomas Green, reporting as ordered, sir."

Magruder spun around, a genuine smile spreading across his features; even his eyes lit up. "Tommy! What a sight for sore eyes!" He reached across his desk to shake Green's hand, and finally noticed me.

"That's Major Jasper Whitlock, sir," Green said. "Usually presides over Company A. He's a fine marksman in the saddle, one of our best."

Magruder swept his eyes over me and huffed. "Get younger every year, don't they? How old are you, Major?"

"Twenty-one, sir."

He huffed again, a laugh this time. "If you say so. At ease, Major, before you sprain something. Sit down, Tom, sit down."

I widened my stance and locked my arms together behind my back. General Green took the seat that was offered, as well as the cigar. He finally relaxed, sniffing the cigar and smiling over it to his friend. "How'd you land yourself in this mess, you old buzzard?"

Magruder grunted, taking his own chair. "Somebody's got to fix it. Might as well be me. And you're going to help me." He moved aside a stack of papers, revealing a map that was tacked to the desk. He picked up a pencil, tapping our current location. Virginia Point was the tip of a small peninsula, connected to the island city of Galveston by a long, narrow causeway: the only way in or out of the town, except by sea. "The blockade's nothing new. And the port's been in enemy hands since October, as you know. But the _Harriet Lane_ has been sneaking in and out over the past weeks, bringing in fresh soldiers."

"More Navy?" Green asked.

Magruder shook his head. "Army… infantry. A few of them have been on and off the island. But yesterday morning, near on three hundred of them went ashore."

Green coughed, sending a sweet cloud of smoke into the air. "The town's already occupied?"

"It's not much of an occupation… today, at least. They're mostly holed up inside a warehouse-turned-barracks. Sitting ducks, if we play our cards right. But I don't wait to wait more than a couple of days, Tom. They can't be allowed to turn that garrison into a mobile force. President Davis isn't going to let them keep this port, not with Houston sitting ripe and ready nearby. And Galveston was only partially evacuated, back in October. There's still women and children over there. We're going to take the town back, and we're going to send those Yankee pirates limping back to New Orleans."

Green eyed him with suspicion. "You got a fleet hidden in those whiskers, John?"

"It'll be ready soon."

"And if you fail?"

Magruder shrugged. "Then we blow the bridge to hell, and fortify the coast. I have enough dynamite coming in tomorrow to do the job. But it doesn't matter, because we're not going to fail."

Green took a deep drag on the cigar, leaning back in his chair. "You keep saying 'we', John. What do you want my cavalry for? If you think I'm going to lead a mounted charge over that rickety plank you call a bridge, you've got another thought coming."

Magruder grinned slightly. "No, I need your boys on the ships. I've got two steamers being outfitted up in Harrisburg, the _Bayou City _and the _Neptune_. You'll-"

"_Two_ ships?" Green echoed, leaning forward. "That's your fleet, coming to save the day? In case you haven't noticed, the Federals have _six_ warships out there."

Magruder didn't miss a beat. "I want your sharpshooters on the ships, like I said. They'll be quite safe, at least until they're ready to board the enemy. You've heard of cottonclads?" Green shook his head, and my own head began to swim. We were going to fight aboard a _ship_? And what did we know about boarding and capturing an enemy vessel? We were cavalry, not marines!

"They're lining the sides with cotton bales," Magruder continued. "Like riding along inside a pillow. Your boys'll be quite safe while they're shooting. What are you carrying there, Major?"

I looked back up and shrugged my rifle off my shoulder. "An Enfield, sir." I handed it to him. He hefted its weight, looking pleased.

"This'll do fine, Tom. And the steamers will have shotguns ready for you, as well."

"Now just a minute!" Green said, stamping his cigar into the ashtray. "It's all well and good to shoot from behind a shield, but my boys are cavalry! You know hand-to-hand combat isn't their thing. And what do you mean by sending them out to die in the water like that? The odds-"

"-will continue to worsen, every day that we wait," Magruder said, his voice like steel. "I can't afford to wait much longer. The longer we spend on the muster, the more their new garrison will be fortified. And the _bigger_ that muster is, the less likely we'll be to keep the element of surprise. A week, at most."

Green's face reddened. "A week."

"I'd prefer two days," Magruder sighed, "but the Fourth are further out, the ships aren't ready yet, and I'm not risking any of this without the dynamite. That'll give your boys time to rest up, and we'll give them a talk about capturing a vessel, brush up on their knife skills, et cetera. Shooting and fighting on the deck of a rocking ship is just like shooting and fighting on horseback."

Now Colonel Green was truly angry; the air inside the office seemed to grow hotter as his face grew redder. "Just like fighting on… this is madness! My regiment isn't some throwaway bunch of infantry, John! I'll not have them wasted like this- you want to throw them up against a brick wall and drown them at the same time! Use your own blasted cavalry!"

"I haven't got any, and it'll take far too long to bring in anyone else. And they're not _all_ warships," Magruder protested. "And once the Fourth gets the heavy artillery on the island, they'll be shelling the rest of the flotilla for you. Once you achieve any measure of victory, the garrison on the island will surrender."

"And then what?" Green spat. "The other four ships will just yawn and go home? Have you gone completely mad?!"

"Your protest is noted, Colonel," Magruder said tightly. "When is the rest of your regiment due to arrive?"

Green clenched his teeth, swallowing the rest of his speech. "Company C has the howitzers. Tomorrow night, maybe."

The two men hunched over the map again while Magruder begun outlining the specifics of his plan. I was glad he had left my rifle laying on the corner of his desk, because my back was aching. Even my powder bag and my canteen hung heavy on my shoulders; I hadn't gotten so much as a drink of water yet, and I was still in full gear, minus the rifle. At least I had left my extra carbine and the heavier tack back with Patch.

They went on for another hour, arguing over minutia. Their friendly camaraderie never returned. Instead, the office air felt heavy with hostility as Magruder outlined all the ways that we, and the Fourth, were going to be sent into battle in a few days, outnumbered three to one. Outnumbered by ships, outnumbered on deck if we _took_ a ship, outnumbered _and_ outgunned on land. It was either brilliant or insane: only time would tell which one.

I was eventually called over to join them. In a dismal tone, Green talked me through the plans for our part of the attack. It was decided that Green and I would preside over Companies C and A, respectively, on the larger _Bayou City_. Our primary target would be the _Harriet Lane_, as she was expected to house most of the incoming infantry. This would make capture more difficult, but more worthwhile if achieved. She was certainly the most dangerous boat in the flotilla. Company B would be on the _Neptune_, and go after the _Westfield_. This would take the two fiercest ships away from the island, leaving the smaller guns of the other four to protect the garrison. Meanwhile, the dismounted Fourth Cavalry would quietly bring the heavy artillery up onto the causeway and start shelling the nearest ships- hopefully, before we engaged at all. After deciding on where our regiment would set up camp for the night, we were wished a Merry Christmas and dismissed.

I followed Green out toward the officer's mess in a daze, barely remembering to grab my rifle on the way out. He was fuming under his breath.

I shook my head as I walked, still taking it all in. The shooting itself sounded like an interesting challenge: what would it be like, taking aim from the deck of a rocking ship? But it was what came after that disturbed me. If we did manage to board one of the Union ships, my rifle would be useless. I had hardly used my saber at all, and now Magruder was talking about _knife skills_. I had a sinking suspicion he wasn't talking about throwing knives, either. After all, once you threw it, you didn't have it anymore.

There were a world of reasons why I loved being cavalry. There was the speed, the sights, the glory of being in the Fifth… of being in the Brigade, back when that had meant something. And Patch had become an extension of myself, carrying me to victory and away from death, time and again. He knew instinctively how to carry himself at every turn, and when he felt me taking aim, he rode smooth as butter while I fired. Going into battle without him… I felt off kilter at the thought, like one of my hands was tied behind my back. But that wasn't the worst of it.

Being cavalry was… clean. I had killed my share of Yankees, but it had always felt detached, impersonal. I aimed, I fired… and some unlucky kid in blue fell down half a second later. It was almost as if I hadn't killed him myself. And I had crossed blades a few times, but it was always in passing, mostly swinging the saber to keep the other one away from Patch's legs. We weren't barbarians like our Union counterparts, stabbing around with bayonets at close range; we had our pistols, and I had just been issued a new percussion revolver: six shots without reloading. But this… this was different. Once I hit the deck of the enemy ship, my rifle would just be in the way. The pistols might be good for a moment, but once we were all crowded together it would be too dangerous to fire. It would all sabers and fists and knives, fighting at close quarters. I shivered at the thought of having to push a blade into a man's gut… a _boy's_ gut. It made me feel dirty.

Of course, with the odds the way they were, it was anybody's guess whether I'd even make it aboard our target. And even if I did, the deck would be crawling with infantry, fresh and rested, ready to shove us back out onto the waves below, churning and dark and…

I stopped walking suddenly.

Green looked over his shoulder, annoyed. "What now, Major?"

I flushed, ashamed at showing fear when he most needed me. "It's just that I… I can't swim, sir."

His eyes held mine for a moment, and I wondered if they held an apology. He glanced back at the Fort and spat on the ground towards it before continuing his walk. "Neither can I."

.

.

.

Most of the enlisted men were still awake when I entered the camp. As a senior officer, I had been offered a place in the Fort, but this was no time to be leaving my boys in the lurch: they'd be waiting to hear from me, after seeing Green and I cooped up in the Fort for so long. They were huddled around small campfires, crowded close in order to block the sight from prying Union spyglasses. It was a fool's hope to think they hadn't seen evidence of a muster, but that didn't mean we needed to give them a body count.

I steered over to the stables first, to check on Patch. He was dozing in a snug little stall, his head hanging low and a dribble of oats drying on his lower lip. He was exhausted. But his brown coat was gleaming in the moonlight that cut into the stable, evidence of a proper rubdown. At times like this, when my superiors seemed determined to bury me, I always found myself standing beside him in the moonlight, whether in a stable like this or under whatever tree he had been tethered to. I would confide everything in Patch in a whisper, cursing the powers that be and telling him of all the places we would visit once the War was won. But he looked so tired tonight that I didn't even want to whisper and disturb whatever horsey dreams were soothing away his aching muscles. I reached up and touched his neck ever so gently, tracing the white patch that had earned him his name. I dug another sugar cube out of my pocket, leaving it on the post for him to find in the morning.

_You'll get a fine rest here, Patch_, I promised him silently. _A full week's Christmas leave. _At least one of us would getting some rest this week. I would be running ragged, whipping my boys into shape in preparation for a maneuver that I had no idea how to achieve, and little hope of surviving. I shivered as I looked out onto the Bay, wondering how cold its depths were. December in Texas couldn't be called cold, exactly, but I felt cold tonight, especially when I thought of that water. Exiting the stable, I glanced back at the Fort and imagined tucking into a warm bunk. But instead I moved toward the fires that dotted our camp. They'd be waiting to hear a bit of gossip, or at least an inkling of why we had been ordered onto an empty peninsula on Christmas Day.

I made my way over to the closest fire, finding its glow dancing on five familiar faces: Sergeants Moore and Lockewood, who had been with the Fifth since Valverde; Captain Miles Lang, a rosy-cheeked plantation prince, and my current right hand; two privates, newly recruited earlier this week. One was Lee, who we had already nicknamed The Little General, and the other was Morris, or Norris, or something like that. All Company A. There were a couple of other too-young faces mixed in as well, but they weren't mine. Judging by the blandness of their speech, Magruder must have brought them down from Virginia with his entourage.

Their conversation quieted as I approached, and I could almost feel the wall shoot up as they cleaned up their rough speech; nothing like a superior officer coming over to spoil the fun. Only Moore and Lang nodded a greeting. Just as well; I wasn't feeling too generous at the moment.

"Shouldn't you lot be getting some sleep?" I muttered, kicking a stray twig into the fire. I sat down on a hay bale, squeezing in between Lockewood and Lang. Lang had his banjo sitting at his feet.

"We was hoping you'd bring us a word, Major," Moore piped up. "And Miles says he'll pluck out a few Christmas carols, if we get him drunk enough." There was a titter of sleep-deprived laughter around the circle, and the two privates eyed each other, stealing nervous glances at the star on my collar.

I finally doffed my hat, ruffling the dust out of my hair. "Well, get him going then. Only a couple hours left of Christmas, anyway." I shivered again, leaning closer to the fire. The conversation paused awkwardly, and I cursed myself for coming over here and shedding my ill mood on my own men, right before I had to give them bad news. I forced half a smile, nodding toward the new recruits. "It's a little game we play, boys. Lang couldn't squeeze a tune out of that banjo sober, if his life depended on it." Another round of quiet laughter, and Lang shrugged his bashful agreement. A whiskey bottle magically appeared in Moore's hands. But instead of passing it to Lang, he turned it over in his hands, watching me. Pair after pair of eyes drifted toward me, and I clenched my jaw behind a lazy smile. Guess there was no point in beating around the bush.

"General Magruder is the new commander here at Virginia Point," I began. "Galveston is a key port, and a rich prize for the Federals, since it's so close to Houston. The port was taken in October, though the town itself wasn't occupied immediately. There was a brief truce for evacuation of civilians, but it got botched somehow, as there's plenty of women and children still on the island. Magruder has been brought in to retake the port; he's got a couple of ships on the way. There's also a couple hundred U.S. Infantry in the town now; they'll need to be dealt with as well."

"They set foot on Texas soil?" Lang asked in disgust. The two privates glanced at each other again, their eyes wide as they discovered the profane possibility that Texas might not, in fact, be completely impregnable.

"Not for long," I said hotly.

Moore slowly turned the bottle in his hands again, his eyes never leaving my face. He knew me well enough to tell when I was stalling. "And what's our bit in all this?"

The fire let out a big _sizzle-pop_ just then, and a cloud of sparks jumped up like a bad omen. "We're to dismount. We'll be parceled out to two steamers- our company will be on the _Bayou City_. We're to take as many shots as we can, around the flotilla, but our main goal is to board and capture the _Harriet Lane_. She and the _Westfield_ are the two real warships out there. The other four are weaker, and they'll already have their hands full when we engage, because the Fourth Cavalry is going to cross the bridge. It's a long, narrow causeway, over a mile long, and they'll be bringing along all the cannon they can muster. So that's the plan: they'll be exchanging fire with the four weaker ships and take back the town, and we'll disable the flotilla enough to send them limping back to New Orleans."

Silence.

"Dismount?" Lang echoed. I should have known they'd get stuck on that word; they probably hadn't heard a blessed thing I'd said after that.

"We ain't Navy," Lockewood observed. That did it; everyone was talking at once now. A few other men were drawn to the sound, and I soon had an audience of at least twenty, all gathered around the fire and staring at me like I had two heads. I repeated the news, earning the same silence as before.

It was soon broken by Moore; he was usually the one to get to the bottom of these things. "What do they want cavalry for, Major? Why us?"

He couldn't have given me a better opening if he'd tried. The real answer, of course, was that we were the only warm bodies that had any way of getting here fast enough for Magruder's plan to have a ghost of a chance. That if he waited for enough infantry to plod in, the town would be brimming with Yankees and we'd be falling back to Houston within a month. That the civilians on the island would become hostages, or worse.

Maybe. Maybe not. But that wasn't for me to worry about. I had my orders, and Green had his. He was a good commander, but he wasn't the type to speak much to the enlisted men, especially not when it came to news like this. I was going to have to work my magic tonight.

It was the most natural thing in the world for me, though even Sibley had always been in awe at my ability to charm a crowd. I suppose that was how I had started rising through the ranks. True, I really was a good marksman in the saddle, and I did have a knack for leading a charge. But I had always had this _way_ with people, where I could get them fired up, or calmed down, or whatever my job was. It normally wasn't too difficult- a few inspirational phrases, a word here and there wobbling with emotion, a shouted call for courage, with just the right inflection… I always had them eating out of my hand within two minutes. This was going to be a tough one, though. I had just informed them that we were going to leave our better halves in the stables, hitch a ride on two untried ships, go against _six_ ships, turn pirate in the middle of the battle with a few days' worth of training, and hope to God that the Fourth would get into town quick enough to turn their cannons on the other ships for us. That was _if_ they weren't spotted by the flotilla and blown into the water on their way in. And I hadn't even given them the worst of it: that we were going to be boarding a ship full of U.S. Infantry. God only knew what artillery they had on deck, destined for Houston. I had to warn them about this, but with the right spin.

"Why us?" I said, forcing a smile to spread over my face. "I'll _tell_ you why us. They don't want Navy, because this isn't a Naval battle. The _Harriet Lane_ isn't just a gunboat anymore- she's been ferrying U.S. infantry onto the island. Like I said, Galveston's the gateway to Houston. Lincoln's been itching to get his hands on Texas all along, and he thinks he's finally found a way in. But he didn't reckon on the Fifth, did he boys?"

A weak chorus of "No, _sir_!" echoed around the fire.

I took a deep breath, resting my elbows on my knees and leaning forward, as if to confide a secret. The others leaned in as well, their eyes gleaming as I hardened my smile into a grim promise. "We've been chosen for this maneuver because of our reputation as sharpshooters. Magruder has the steamers lined with cotton bales- cottonclads, he calls them. We'll be right safe shooting from behind them. Our target will be full of infantry, and it'll be our job to clean those bastards right off the deck as we approach. We'll be using Enfields and shotguns. Once we get close enough, we'll ram the _Lane_ and board her. With all the shooting we'll get in beforehand, we shouldn't have too much trouble with the capture itself.

"Meanwhile, the Fourth will keep the other ships busy with their cannons. And once we do our work out in the water, they can get busy retaking the town. We're going to kick the Yankees clean out to sea, lads. They're going to learn what comes of touching Texas soil, and they're going to learn it from the finest cavalry regiment in the Confederacy."

Not exactly the full truth, especially that part about the capture being easy. But it was what they needed right now, and it was working like a charm. My voice had been building in strength throughout the speech, and my audience was starting to buzz with excitement by the end.

"When?" Private Lee asked, his eyes fierce.

"We have to wait for the Fourth, and for the steamers to be ready- a couple of days, a week at the outside. We'll be getting a crash course in naval combat in the meantime. I know you're all pining for Mama's turkey and stuffing tonight, but we'll be giving Texas a Christmas present she'll never forget."

"I'll drink to that," Lang announced with gusto, and the tension was finally broken with a round of hearty laughter.

"Hear, hear," Moore said grandly. As if on cue, we all screwed the lids off our canteens and he filled them up for us. I stood up, holding mine aloft.

"To the Lone Star, gents."

"To the Lone Star!" they echoed solemnly. There was a reverent silence as we drank, and then a chorus of sighs as the whiskey shot through us, giving the illusion of warmth. I tossed another stick on the fire and took my seat again, nudging the banjo at Lang's feet with the toe of my boot.

"Miles, how about those carols?"

"Ain't drunk enough yet," he muttered, eliciting another round of laughter. I genuinely liked Miles Lang. When he had first joined the Fifth, all chubby-cheeked and toting a rank he hadn't earned, I had rolled my eyes with the others. His hands had been soft and useless, and his aristocratic airs had put us off even more. But he had gotten down to business in Valverde, earning his mettle along with my respect. And back in Colorado, he had gotten off a shot that probably saved my life. Patch had taken a bad step, and I had dismounted- during the retreat, no less- to get a stone out of his shoe. I spun around just in time to hear a pop from Lang's pistol, and a Yankee was just falling dead not fifteen feet in front of me.

"Give the man his muse, Sergeant!" I ordered Moore. Another round was poured, much fuller now that the others had wandered off to start passing the news around. Lang tossed it back all in one go, slapping his knee in approval. He spun the banjo up onto his knee, and we all cheered. He began plucking out a merry _God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen_. I turned my eyes back to the fire, taking a small sip of the whiskey. I couldn't afford to get too drunk tonight, or I might start rambling about how most of us were probably going to be dead before the week was out.

We'd faced defeat and death before. Our regiment had been nearly cut in half at Valverde, and then again in the raid in Colorado. But the worst was the men I had lost over the course of the retreat- so many had been wounded in that final skirmish. Some of them might have had a chance, if we had been in a snug Army hospital. But a cavalry regiment didn't exactly carry a doctor with them, and now we were on the run, without a supply train. We had absolutely nothing, except our weapons and the kit on our horses- and we were still riding. Every wound began to fester. I myself had been grazed by a musket ball on the back of my left shoulder, and those first two days' ride had been agony. Lang was the lucky man who had the pleasure of scraping the infection off the wound every time we stopped, since I couldn't see what I was about. Once we had ridden far enough to feel safe, we stopped and scrambled together what linen we could to dress everyone's wounds, but it was too late. My shoulder healed eventually, but there was no salve that would chase away the nightmare of watching my friends die slowly of gangrene. I had done what I could, holding hands and muttering half-remembered prayers, but we didn't even have any medicine for them. When we packed up and rode off a week later, we left a small city of mounds and homemade crosses behind. None of us had spoken a word for two days after that.

But the Fifth had survived. We were shored up with the new recruits now, and Green was a fine commander. We had all gotten the new pistols. And while none of us like ked how the Brigade had fallen apart, we were all thrilled to be back in Texas. And for what? To drown in Galveston Bay, so that Lincoln wouldn't have a chance to get a second foot onto Texas soil?

I had to admit, it was a worthy cause. I had Texan blood running hot in my veins, the same as the rest of them. The very idea of Houston- _my_ Houston, being taken, was blasphemy itself. We wouldn't stand for Texas to be invaded… not while we were still in the saddle. _Or on deck_, I thought with distaste. Texas had been throwing off oppressive governments for nigh on half a century, and Lincoln's Union was no different. We'd only been a part of the United States for fifteen years, after all. If he wanted to work himself into a tizzy over the original colonies, let him. Why couldn't he leave Texas be? It was times like this I missed General Sibley. He'd have his own fiery words to add to mine tonight; that man gave a whole new meaning to Manifest Destiny.

But still, for us to have come through so much, only for it to end here! I believed that the port would eventually be won, or the town, at least. Magruder was convinced that the speed of this attack would mean its success. But that didn't mean that our regiment wasn't going to be decimated out there in the harbor. We weren't a throwaway bunch of infantry, like Green had said, but we no longer the glorious Brigade, either. We were a band of sharpshooters who just happened to have horses, and who were unlucky enough to be on hand for this one. But that was War; if we had to die to keep the Lone Star clean of the filth of Yankee boots, we would. _I _would. I hadn't a home to go back to, anyway; as much as I liked to whisper to Patch about the adventures we would have together someday, I knew the odds. I still believed the South would prevail, but I didn't truly believe that I would live to see the day. I especially didn't believe it tonight. But I honestly couldn't think of a better cause to spend my life on, and I couldn't have picked a finer regiment to spend it with.

I looked around the circle of faces, still flickering orange from the fire. Lang's music was warming us in a way that whiskey never could, and I didn't see a lick of fear in those faces now. Half of them had their eyes closed, no doubt pretending they were back in their warm homes, hearing this same music and staring at the candles on their Christmas trees, smelling the turkey as their mother took it out of the oven. I sat back up, working my left shoulder in a circle; on cold nights like this, it still pained me. I transferred the whiskey to my left hand and kneaded the muscles that I could reach with my right.

After a while, Lang was tired out. I hadn't fooled him, not completely, and he had downed more whiskey than was good for him. He was a gloomy drunk, the type that would want to get to his tent and start writing his goodbye letters, on a night like this. There was a groan of protests as he ended the music and stumbled to his feet.

"C'mon, Miles!" Lockewood whined. "Play a couple more. Baby Jesus ain't even born yet."

"Y'all play a c'ple more," Lang slurred, and stumbled again, this time off toward his tent. I picked up his banjo and began plucking random notes, reminded of those first months in the Brigade when we had all still felt immortal. I had been the one playing back then… but my banjo had been stolen along with the rest of the supply train in Colorado. I hadn't had the heart to replace it yet, not when I couldn't replace the men we'd left behind.

"Haven't heard you play in a while, Major," Moore said hopefully.

I ignored him, bending lower over the instrument in concentration. I was a little drunk myself now, and while I wasn't seeing double, the strings were wobbling in a way they shouldn't. But a tune emerged nonetheless; I didn't know any Christmas carols on the banjo, but I could play _Durang's Hornpipe_ with my eyes shut. My fingers stumbled occasionally, numb with cold and whiskey, but it came out all right. The men were soon clapping along, nodding in appreciation. I finished with a loud strum, and bowed at their applause. Moore passed me another lidful of whiskey, which he said I had to earn with another song. I played _Bonnie Blue Flag _and _Dixie_, and then downed the shot before picking up the banjo again. I only got a few notes into _God Save the South_ when I completely lost track of the tune, and started laughing along with the rest of them. It was just so _funny_, that I could pick off a Yank at five hundred yards, but I couldn't get the banjo strings to sit still. And it was so _funny_ that we, the famed Fifth Mounted Rifles, were going to turn pirate. Maybe I should get an eye patch…

I blinked, and the fire was suddenly lower. I felt warm all over now. I started humming _The Holly and the Ivy, _clutching the neck of the banjo like the neck of a bottle. This was a good night. These were good people. Good, good… good. When did Moore grow two more hands?

"I got a ghost story," a new voice announced. It was one of those mealy-mouthed Virginians. His fellow shoved him rudely.

"It's Christmas, you dope," he said. "Nobody tells ghost stories on Christmas."

"Tell it," I commanded, smiling peacefully. "We'll all be dead'n a week, anyhow." Every eye snapped back to mine, and I muttered an oath to myself. _This is why you don't get yourself drunk, remember? _I forced another laugh out, just to show how absurd my statement was. Fortunately, they were just as drunk as I was, and the laugh echoed carelessly around the circle.

The Virginian leaned in toward the fire, rubbing his hands together. "We just got here last week with Magruder. Sam here and I been hearing stories from the locals. They say these parts is haunted lately."

"'Lately'?" Lee asked. "Ain't ghosts supposed to be dead ancestors, haunting their old mansions?"

"Not this one," the Virginian said, his voice dropping to an eerie bass. "There's people going missing lately. An old man here, a little girl there. Sometimes they find the body, sometimes they don't. And when they do find them…" He paused, and the rest of us leaned closer. "They ain't right. The blood's all gone, and the throats are ripped out."

We all shuddered, and the younger ones laughed. "Thas' a lousy story," I slurred. "They just got grabbed by a bear, is all."

"Bears don't drink your blood," he said triumphantly.

"Vampire?" Lockewood offered.

"Not a vampire. They got fangs, remember? These poor louts got their throats torn clean out, I tell you. Got their souls sucked right out of 'em, along with their blood. There's something out there, something right unholy."

His buddy shoved him again. "You're sick, you know that? Major, why don't you play us some more of those Christmas carols?"

"Don't know any," I sighed. I picked up the banjo anyway, fumbling with the strings for a moment. "You know you boys are the best, don't you?"

Those who knew me rolled their eyes, and Moore wiped at his cheeks, pretending to cry. I wasn't a gloomy drunk, like Lang, and they knew it; I was a _sentimental_ drunk. I'd probably have myself crying in a minute.

"No, I mean it," I said in a gushing tone. "This regiment's the heart and soul of the whole sandblasted Confedr'cy. I think President Davis oughtta put that on his next batch of nickels. The Texas Fifth, five cents." I burst out laughing again, amazed at my own joke. I hiccupped loudly, and strummed hard across the banjo strings. "We're gonna show them Yankee seadogs what for, boys. We're gonna be the pirate heroes of Galveston Bay. We're gonna be the swashbucklingest cavalry that ever was. Make way, men, th' horse marines have arrived!"

I hunched over the banjo laughing again, and this time the whole group roared along with me, repeating "horse marines" to each other. They seemed to like it. Their approval warmed my heart, and my eyes burned. I studied the banjo strings again, waiting for them to stop wobbling before I put them to work. I carefully started plucking out the notes of _Silent Night,_ and the chatter quieted again. The fire hissed and popped, keeping in time with the song. I felt a tear trickle down my face as I played, moved by my own speech, by the music, and by the honest courage we all shared. It wasn't the homiest Christmas my men had ever seen, and it might be the last one they'd ever see. But so long as I could stay awake, I would make sure they had a good one.

* * *

**Ooh, I'm so excited for the battle! But in the meantime, I highly recommend "The Major's Last Ride", a one-shot by staringatthesky, which details the events just after the second battle. It's a wonderful little story, and definitely influenced this one.**

**I probably won't be updating anything again until after New Year's... so I wish you all ****a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2015! :)**


	17. 1863: New Year's in Red

**Happy New Year 2015, everyone! Or, I guess I should say 1863 :) Here is Part two (of three, I think), and the Battle of Galveston! This is dedicated to my wonderful husband, who is enjoying these Civil War outtakes, and who says things like "I'll take the kids out for a while. Why don't you lie down and do some writing?" :)**

* * *

**Here's a refresher of the battle plans:**

_**IN THE HARBOR**__**:**_

**The two cottonclad ships, the ****_Bayou City_**** and the ****_Neptune_****, are carrying the "horse marines", the Fifth and Seventh Texas Mounted Rifle regiments. Jasper is in the Fifth, which is on the ****_Bayou City_****. The Union flotilla has six gunboats, the fiercest ones being the ****_Harriet Lane _****and the ****_Westfield._**

**_ON LAND:_**

**General John Magruder is bringing the Fourth Texas Cavalry (dismounted) across the bridge with lots of heavy artillery (cannons). Their main job is to first attack the Union ships, then seize the town itself back from the Yankees. Meanwhile, a regiment of Texas Infantry is wading around to storm the wharf, where the Union garrison is holed up.**

**Jasper's invented "campfire buddies" from the first outtake are Captain Miles Lang (Jasper's right-hand man), Sergeants Moore and Lockewood, and Privates Lee and Morris. His commanding officer is Colonel Tom Green. Their two-ship fleet will be under the command of Commodore Leon Smith. The Union flotilla is under the command of William Renshaw.**

**And here's a quick summary of how to load an 1853 Enfield rifle musket (Jasper's favorite): **

**You'd have your haversacks (pouches) at your side, containing fresh canisters (cartidges) of powder, musketballs, and percussion caps. You rip the powder canister open with your teeth and pour it down into the barrel of the rifle, then drop the musketball down on top. You take the ramrod off the gun and ram everything down, then replace the ramrod. You then pull the hammer back to half-cock, removing the old percussion cap from the last time you fired. You put on a fresh percussion cap, and then pull the hammer back to full-cock. You can then lift the rifle, aim, and fire.**

* * *

I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and my boots still on. I blinked several times, watching in confusion as a row of stitches came into focus, cutting a line across a canvas sky. When did I pitch my tent?

I blinked again, and realized that sunlight was leaching in through the canvas. I jerked up to sitting, moaning and grabbing my head. My mouth tasted like something had died in it. I crawled out and squinted up against the sun, which was soon replaced by the cheerful face of Miles Lang.

"Morning, Major!"

"Not so loud," I growled, grabbing my throbbing head again. "And why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

"I was just coming to do that, sir. The Colonel wants you in ten minutes." I lumbered to my feet and grunted my thanks as he passed me a steaming mug of black coffee. I guzzled half of it down and then nodded back toward my tent.

"Who tucked me in last night?"

"I did, sir."

"You might have taken my boots off."

He grinned again. "I'll keep that in mind for next time. Where would you be without me?"

"Up a river, Captain." I shook my head, smiling at our familiar banter, and finished the coffee while he cheerfully informed me that my 'horse marines' joke from last night had been a huge success. The phrase was spreading through the camp, giving a sense of levity to the unease that the news of our upcoming maneuver had caused. It was exactly what we all needed.

I spent most of my ten minutes shaving and trying to get a comb through the haystack on top of my head. I really should get it cut, but I never seemed to get around to it. I didn't, as a rule, give much attention to my appearance – I groomed Patch far better than I groomed myself- but I was proud of my hair. I had started growing it out after my first promotion, and it had become something of a joke in Company A.

I checked on Patch briefly, promising him a run as soon as I got the chance. Then I made my way to the Officer's Mess, where I found Colonel Green nursing his own coffee and scribbling on a scrap of paper. I loaded a plate with bacon and eggs and sat opposite him.

"Morning, sir."

He peered at me over his coffee. "Horse marines, eh?"

I cleared my throat, studying the eggs as I pushed them around on the plate. Tom Green was a good man, but he had absolutely no sense of humor. And he didn't always approve of my less-than-traditional leadership style; he felt I was too familiar with the enlisted men. "The men were a bit disturbed by the news. I thought it might be a good idea to lighten the atmosphere."

"_I _think you were inebriated."

I blushed. "That too, sir."

He swished his coffee, looking thoughtful. "Probably a good idea. Even if our chances of success were better, I think we'd all be a bit uncomfortable with the arrangements. Anything to help the lads keep their courage. You've always had a knack for that sort of thing, haven't you?"

I shrugged.

"In fact, I'd like you to be the one to break the news to Company C when they get in later."

I clenched my jaw, nodding my reluctant agreement. He spun the paper that he had been working on around and pushed it closer. He had already put together a rough plan for the drills that we'd be running while we waited for the steamers to be prepared. I glanced over his ideas, giving him a noncommittal nod. We were both out of our element here, and we knew it.

.

.

.

The next few days were a blur of drills, mostly focused on hand-to-hand combat. Our swordsmanship and knife-fighting technique were sadly in need of improvement, especially. On the second day, we practiced shooting in close quarters with one another, as it would be on the ship: one row firing and then moving away to reload while the next row stepped up and took aim. And to my eternal mortification, we were given _swimming _lessons_._ I tried my hardest, but after several day's effort my only achievement was sinking slowly, instead of quickly.

Things were looking up a bit by the time the steamers were ready. General Magruder grew angrier with each day's delay, but despite our fears, the Federals hadn't added to the garrison on the island yet. Magruder had ordered reinforcements, in case of such a delay, and so our odds went up. A smattering of infantry made it in, to add to the ranks of the Fourth for their land assault, and we were especially overjoyed to see the Seventh Texas Cavalry riding into camp on the 28th. Their addition to the maneuver meant that our regiment could now be all together on the _Bayou City_, while they, being the smaller of the two regiments, would be shooting from the_ Neptune_. But their arrival meant more than just a boost to our odds: Sibley's Brigade was reunited for the first time in months. The Fourth, The Fifth, and the Seventh, all in one camp! None of us slept a wink that first night, all catching up with each other and rehashing old jokes, pranks and songs. General Sibley's absence was keenly felt by all, but we were too excited over our reunion to do any moping. The odds were still against us, but now we'd be facing them together.

.

.

.

I went to give Patch my goodbye just before dawn on the 30th. It was the first time we had parted like this; I had expected to die other times, but we had always gone into battle together. I had always kept the same ragged note in the inside breast pocket of my uniform jacket, but now I took it out.

_If I should not survive, my only request is that my horse be kept within the service of the Fifth Texas Mounted Rifle regiment. Any other of my earthly goods may be redeemed or distributed as my commanding officer deems fit, for the advancement of the Cause. Private Jasper Whitlock_

The paper was torn and hardly legible, but I didn't have any paper with which to replace it. I did, however, take a pencil stub out of another pocket and strike out "Private", replacing it with "Major"; perhaps the extra clout would ensure that my wishes would be respected. I slipped the note under the kit I was leaving in the stable with Patch.

I brushed him for a while, fussed over his hooves like a doting mother, and gave him the last of my sugar-cube stash. Even if I did make it back, the sugar would probably get wet and ruined on the ship.

"That's all there is, pal," I said, my whisper choked with emotion. "That's all there is."

.

.

.

We and the Seventh left for Harrisburg after breakfast. It was an unpleasant couple of days, and I was hard-pressed not to join in the grumbling at being marched off like infantry, carrying all our own kit. It was oppressive to be loaded down with a knapsack and full haversacks; I missed Patch already. I was also weighed down with the usual full canteen, rations, blanket- at least leaving the horses behind meant we didn't need to carry all our usual grooming and shoe repair tools. We were also bristling with weapons on the march; besides the saber, the Enfield and the carbine, we had all been issued a third pistol, a fifteen-inch bowie knife, and a smaller side knife. At least we didn't have to carry the extra ammunition; that was waiting for us on the ships.

We reached the docks in Harrisburg the next afternoon. It was immediately obvious that our "fleet" was comprised of two ships that had no business being used for warfare. The _Neptune_ was no more than a tugboat, originally commissioned for mail-carrying. The _Bayou City_ was larger but hardly more impressive. Both ships and the docks were covered in sawdust and loose cotton, evidence of the ramshackle alterations made this week to accommodate General Magruder's haste. Both ships had been equipped with a single cannon, and the sides were an ugly mess of wooden planks and cotton bales. Our ammunition was just being loaded on, so we all sat down where we found ourselves, making a quick lunch of whatever we could eat cold out of our rations. Another twenty minutes, a round of handshakes with our pals in the Seventh, and we were steaming down Buffalo Bayou.

Commodore Leon Smith was in command of the "fleet", and stood on the _Bayou City_ with us. We had a couple of other tiny boats come along with us, but they were just helpers- "tender", as the sailors called them. If we had spit at them, they would have sunk.

We quickly came to regret our hasty lunch. Most of us had never been on any kind of boat before, and the ship's crew had a good laugh at our seasickness. Once most of us were feeling human again, Colonel Green showed us around the ammunition stash. Then he introduced us to the small pile of shotguns we had been given. I had never used one before; they looked like someone had taken a decent rifle and bit off the front half.

"I've had them loaded with buckshot," he said grimly. "We'll save them until we're ready to board the enemy. Which of you boys have used these for hunting before?" Several hands went up, mostly in Company C. Fifteen of them were chosen to use the shotguns when the time came, and they were set aside. Then Commodore Smith gave us a crash course in the naval gibberish that we'd need to know for the battle.

We swung out into a larger bay around sunset, where we were met with a courier in a rowboat, carrying General Magruder's final orders:

_I will attack from within the City with my ground troops about one o'clock in the morning. Take your boats as near as you can to the enemy vessels, without risk of discovery, and attack when the signal gun is fired from my position. The Rangers of the Prairie send greetings to the Rangers of the Sea._

"Starting the New Year off with a bang," Colonel Green said wryly. "He always was one for theatrics."

.

.

.

We slowed to drop anchor at nine o'clock. A bright moon was rising; another strike against us. If we had a prayer of surviving this battle, to say nothing of _succeeding_, we needed the element of surprise. And the ground force had the same need; if they were caught sneaking a train of artillery across a narrow bridge, they would be mown down before they got even halfway across.

After a cautious dinner of hardtack, we all settled down to wait. It was cold out on the water, and most of us were soon huddled in our blankets, our backs against the cotton bales. I had already lost four men out of my company to severe seasickness; they would most likely spend the entirety of the battle belowdecks, where they were right now.

I had my new bowie knife out and was tilting it back and forth, watching the moonlight as it flashed across the blade. I stole a glance around, taking stock of everyone's faces. We had pulled out of Harrisburg in relatively high spirits, laughing and singing; despite the odds against us, this was an adventure. But our sour stomachs, and now the cold wait, had quieted our laughter. The men were staring blankly ahead, no doubt letting themselves dwell too much on the coming battle. Lang, who was sitting beside me, had just pulled something out of his coat and was staring down at it.

"What's that?" I asked, gesturing with the knife.

He passed it over to me; it was a little framed tintype of a girl, perhaps my own age. "That's her," he said, watching my face hopefully.

"Cynthia?"

"The one and only. She sent it in that parcel- you know, that one with my mother's cherry pies?"

I nodded, my stomach twisting at the memory. Those pies had been the highlight of our disgraceful return back to Texas this summer. But right now, the thought of any food made me want to grab the railing again. I studied the picture. So this was the famous Cynthia, who was waiting for her Captain Lang to come home in triumph and marry her. She was pretty, I supposed, in an aristocratic sort of way. She was almost smiling, as if to wish him good luck. I passed it back. "She's lovely."

"She is," he said reverently. He cradled the picture close in embarrassment, not realizing that at several other men on the ship were holding tiny pictures, as well. I saw a few others clutching battered letters from home.

Me? All I had was a knife. I had no sweetheart whose picture could smile up at me, no mother sending me cherry pies, no letters waiting for me after a year away. I had never written my sister to tell her that I had enlisted; I hadn't thought to write her address down before I left home. I didn't even know whether my Pap was dead or alive. And considering the fact that my parting words had taken the form of a fist across his jaw, I didn't suppose he was losing much sleep over my fate, either. It was one of the reasons I could repeatedly face death with something that resembled courage: there wasn't a soul apart from this regiment who cared, or would even know, whether I lived or died. It was usually a comfort.

But we didn't usually have this confounded _calm_ right before a battle; we were always riding toward the engagement, the men no doubt having looked at their sweetheart's picture, or their mother's most recent letter, the night before in the privacy of their tent. I had never actually witnessed this tender moment, when those who shared my sentimental nature had the time to steal a last peek at their inspiration, to utter bashful prayers behind their hands. To remind themselves who they were fighting for. I was fighting for Texas- and while she was worth every drop of blood spent, she wasn't one to care where it fell. In a rare burst of anger, I threw the knife down onto the deck. It sank effortlessly into the wood, humming as it vibrated. I jerked it out again, ignoring Lang's questioning frown.

1863 began in silence three hours later. We were nearing Galveston Bay now, and under strict orders not to make a sound. We had already loaded our pistols and had them jammed into our belts, and now we quietly loaded the Enfields as our little fleet edged toward its goal. I spent some time poking around the bale of cotton at my back, tying to guess the best way to position myself for the shooting. I didn't quite trust my new sea legs, and so I might prefer to kneel; but then I'd need to crawl, versus walk, out of the way for the man behind me who would take his shot while I reloaded. The carbines wouldn't be much use until we were right on top of them. They were the best for aiming from horseback- and a bucking ship, I hoped- but they had nothing on the Enfield for range.

It was far too light outside. Our ships lay huddled just out of sight of the flotilla, waiting for Magruder's cannon to announce the start of the battle. We waited, back in our blankets, as one o'clock crawled by. The excitement soon came, but not in the form we expected. It was a Union gunboat where there wasn't one a moment ago, already lighting her signal lantern to announce our presence to the other ships.

"Turn and fall back!" the Commodore hissed. "We haven't gotten the signal to engage!" We moved back, and back again- how many miles, I couldn't guess. I had no bearings out here in the water, and there was really no way for us "horse marines" to know what the sailors were chattering about. Once we had gotten far enough away, we turned to face our attackers. We waited on our feet, rifles at the ready, for a good twenty minutes. But the attack never came, and most of the men returned to their blankets. I stalked up to Colonel Green, chafing my hands against my coat to keep warm. I had left my gloves back with Patch, thinking that I would have no need for them. I hadn't guessed how much colder it would be out here, and how much time we'd spend waiting.

"Why aren't they attacking?"

He scowled out at the empty water. "I don't know. But I wish they hadn't seen us."

"Isn't it better this way?" I asked. "No matter why they're dismissing us, anything that keeps their eyes off the island has to be a good thing."

He shrugged. "Might be good for now, but bad for later. Now when we do get the signal we'll be steaming in from further back. And it's possible that their guns are _all_ turned our way now. Even if they aren't, you can be sure they'll be looking over their shoulder from now 'til dawn. And where's that damned signal? Something's wrong ashore, I just know it." Our normally stoic commander shivered, and I stole a glance back at the men, who were watching us. Everyone knew by now that the commencement was behind schedule.

I walked back to them and tossed my blanket back over my shoulders. "No sign of pursuit," I told them unnecessarily. "But it's actually a good thing we were spotted. This'll keep the Yankees looking everywhere except the island, while Magruder gets himself into position."

"I thought we was attacking at one o'clock," Private Lee said loudly, and I hissed for him to keep it down.

"We're attacking when we hear the first cannon," I reminded them. "And not a moment before."

Moore buried his face deeper into his coat. "If there ever _is_ a first cannon," he grumbled. His comment was echoed in murmurs throughout those standing or sitting nearby. As if an extra chill had settled on them with the words, everyone suddenly looked colder and more miserable. How long _would_ we be waiting, and how much lower were everyone's spirits going to sink in the meantime?

"You there!" I whispered loudly, pointing to a sailor who lingered nearby. "Have you got any coffee on board? Enough for all?"

The sailor blushed, glancing around and guessing at our numbers. "I reckon so, sir, but… but…"

"Well, cook it up," I ordered. "All of it. Numb fingers make for poor shooting."

He began to stammer something about the Captain's orders. "_Now_!" I snapped, and he hopped to it. There was soon a huge, steaming cauldron being heaved up from the galley. I kicked aside some of the ammunition boxes to make way, and a grateful crowd gathered around. We had to take turns, since the galley didn't have 150 mugs on board. Commodore Smith looked about to protest, but Colonel Green leaned in and told him something in a whisper, while they both looked at me. The Commodore gave me a nod of approval.

Morale seemed better after that… for a while. Commodore Smith was soon pacing the deck and muttering under his breath, pausing only to hiss down instructions to the furnace. He had an enormous stash of wood ready, spilling out onto the deck, which was already overflowing with our regiment, the cotton bales, and ammunition.

By four o'clock, the coffee was stone cold. The men were huddle two to a blanket now, and our noses were all dripping in the cold. Despite our orders to maintain silence, there was plenty of muttering and guessing going on: Magruder had changed the plan, and we had missed his courier in the dark. The garrison on the island had attacked the Point. The flotilla hadn't attacked us because they already had reinforcements closing in on us. Magruder was already dead.

"Quiet," I ordered yet again. "And nobody's dead. We would have heard-"

It came then, a single thud in the distance; it seemed much too far away. We all stood frozen, turned toward the bay, for a good five seconds. Then a smattering of cannonfire, clear as day: the answering report of the Union gunboats. The Commodore ran down to the furnace shrieking for full steam, and we threw off our blankets with a shout of "Hurrah for the Fourth!"

We surged forward in the water, and we grabbed our stomachs again as we discovered how truly _fast_ a steamer could go. The _Neptune_ was already falling behind, and our tender was already so far back we couldn't sight them. But even with our speed, it seemed to take forever to get back to the harbor. We listened helplessly as Magruder's battle wore on, unable to play our part until we arrived. Would he hold out that long? Would the Fourth survive?

When we were almost there, Commodore Smith called for attention. He stood up in the stern like a General, holding aloft a fresh Confederate flag, the creases still in the red cloth. It snapped in the breeze of our approach, and our hearts swelled at the sight.

"This day we break the enemy's blockade forever!" he shouted, and we cheered. "Dawn will find the Stars and Bars flying over the Port of Galveston, never to fall again. But this one's for the _Harriet Lane_!" We cheered again. "There she is, boys! That one gleaming in the moonlight, for she's sheathed with copper."

We squinted again, and sure enough, there she was. The largest ship, her bow slowly turning to engage, was gleaming in a way that the others weren't. She looked invincible even this far off, though it was impossible to tell in the dark how many cannons she had, or how crowded she was. We all pressed forward to get a better look, but the Commodore called us back.

"You cavalry, listen up! I'll give you as many chances for shooting as I can, before we try and board the _Lane. _We'll be ramming with this extra speed straight off, and I'm going to try to glance off to starboard after the collision. Tom, I want your best shooters on port side for now, with your very best up front. The best service you can do is to clean their artillerymen right off the guns as we approach. This'll do no good if she's got the full use of her cannons. After that, we'll see what's what. Good luck!"

That was it. He stuffed the flag into his coat and turned to give the final instructions to his crew. Colonel Green began dividing us into our starting positions. Company A was the best for marksmanship, so our best, Lang and me included, were sent up into the front. The _Lane_ was getting larger every second now, and I finally shivered with real fear as I saw her _seven_ cannons. We only had _one_. Her deck was crawling with men, though in the dark I hadn't a hope of telling whether they were the crew or the infantry that had earned this attack.

As she came into range, the first row of us knelt down, pressing ourselves against our cotton barricade as best we could. I gave the barrel of my Enfield a kiss for good luck and pulled the hammer back to full cock, waiting for my chance. Colonel Green was busy arranging Company B on the other side of the ship, so the men were waiting for my command. Just a little closer…

"FIRE!" I shouted. Five Yankees fell at our first volley, but we hadn't gotten any of the men standing around the cannon. "Take down the artillery first! Second row, fire at will!" I ordered. I rolled out of the way, grabbing a fresh canister of powder and tearing it open with my teeth as the second volley sounded above my head. I dropped my musketball when our whole ship shuddered; we had fired our cannon. I scrambled to my knees just in time to see a tiny explosion of timber, twisted with copper, fly up into the air. I was just ramming down when our third volley sounded, and Lee just about tripped over me as he came back to reload.

"Use your own first!" I scolded, batting his hand away from the boxes on deck. "We don't need to be falling all over each other!" He nodded and dug into his own haversack.

"I got one, Major!" he said excitedly. His words were punctuated by a huge _SPLOOSH!_ sounding just off deck: the _Lane_ had fired at us this time, but had misjudged our speed. A wall of water hit us, and Lee murmured an oath, dropping his now-drenched canister of powder in favor of a new one.

"Good man!" I told him, drying my hands underneath my coat before fitting a new cap into place. I was soon kneeling and taking aim again, this time blowing an artilleryman clean off his feet. The crew of the _Lane_ had finally caught on to our deadly surprise: the _Bayou City_ was filled with sharpshooters. A few of them started shooting back, but they were disorganized and haphazard in their aim; we were simply coming on too fast. We were so close this time that instead of falling back to reload, I whipped my carbine off my shoulder and shot the hand of a man who was just reaching to pull the lanyard of the middle cannon.

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!"

The Commodore's command came a bit too late, and we were all thrown off our feet as we rammed the _Lane_. There was an odd crunching sound, and the creak of metal as her bow gave way; but we were already glancing away to the right. I rolled away to give Lang his shot, but our part of the company were already staring out at nothing but open water.

"Well done, men!" I cried, clapping two of my nearest soldiers on the back. We were all panting with exhilaration now, and the shock of our success; we had left the deck of the _Lane_ littered with dead or dying men, and not a single scratch to ourselves. We were swinging out in a wide circle now, and for the first time I got a good look at the land battle. Under the full moon I could easily make out the line of heavy artillery now spread across the northern shore, courtesy of Magruder and the Fourth. I saw now why only the _Lane_ had engaged us; the other, smaller ships were more than occupied with the barrage of fire coming from the land. Further down the shore another battle was being waged on the wharf itself: infantry on infantry. A bloody business, no doubt. It seemed that the Fourth hadn't gotten the chance yet to make their way down that far. If we did our work well, they would soon.

"Major Whitlock!" Colonel Green called. I stumbled across the deck towards him, almost losing my balance as the ship listed in her turn. "Fine work, fine indeed!" he said with a grin. "Now this time, I want you to divide your men up so that each of the _Lane's_ side cannons has a group covering it. And if you get close enough to spy who the commanding officers are, take your best shot."

"Yes, sir!" I stumbled back to my men, reloading both my guns while I thought about how to make the divisions. I gave fifteen men each to Lockewood and Moore, keeping Lang and the rest at my side to handle the foremost gun. He and I were the best marksmen; if we could coordinate our shooting, we had a good chance of hitting some more important targets.

The turn seemed to take forever. Company B began their shooting as the Lane appeared on their side. We were just crossing our own wake when the _Neptune_ finally arrived. I supposed we must have looked as strange as she did; all trussed up with cotton sides, like a big fluffy bee with too many stingers as the barrels of a hundred rifles poked out from behind the cotton.

"Hoy!" the Commodore shouted gleefully, leaning out toward them with one hand on the rigging. "Join us at the _Lane_!"

"Where'd you put the _Westfield_?" their Captain shouted back, equally as pleased. "I thought you wanted us to sink her for you!"

Smith pointed out toward the east, and I finally saw her: a grand ship that could only be the _Westfield_, up by a little islet. But something looked odd about her; she was tilted to one side, but immobile. The waves licked against her hull with no effect. I laughed aloud, digging my elbow into Lang's side.

"Look yonder, boys!" I called down the line. "The _Westfield_'s grounded herself for us! We'll have to let the Seventh in on our fun, I guess!"

Things were certainly looking grand. We were still outnumbered, ship to ship, but General Magruder had the others busy. The second-most dangerous ship had been so kind as to take herself out of the action for us. And the _Lane_ didn't seem to have near as much infantry filling her decks as we had expected. But that was when things started to go wrong.

We were so close to the shore now that we could hear the yells and screams of the men there. "Give us a New Year's Present!" someone shouted at us, pointing to one of the smaller gunboats. Our ship's Captain was more than happy to oblige. He swung our cannon toward the gunboat, which was too busy to even spare us a glance.

"Well, here goes your New Year's present!" he cried back, pulling the lanyard. But the explosion sounded all wrong, and for a moment there was nothing but smoke and screaming. When it began to clear, the cotton bale right in front of me was on fire.

"Water!" I shouted to whatever sailors were listening. But they were all running toward the ruined cannon, crying out in horror as they found their Captain dead; it had blown up right in his face. The Commodore's own face was bleeding from some shrapnel that had found him, but he was all right. "_Commodore_!" I shouted frantically. "I need water over here, _now_!"

He pulled his eyes away from the dead man and came back to life. By the time we got the flames out, we had lost two cotton bales. And there was no time to replace them; the ship had completed her turn and it was almost our turn to shoot again. And this time, the deck of the _Lane_ was jam-packed with blue uniforms.

"Where'd they all come from?!" Private Lee moaned.

"I don't know!" I hissed. "But they're infantry. These are the bastards who thought they were going to beef up that garrison. Send 'em to hell, boys!"

The first musketballs were already flying over our heads. Without the protection of our cotton wall, we tried laying prostrate to fire, like men in a trench; but after our first volley it was clear that we would never be able to aim properly that way. The ship was rocking harder now, as we twisted in our own wake and that of the _Lane. _When I crawled back up to make my second shot, a musket ball took my hat right off.

Now that we had lost the momentum from our first approach, we had much more time to shoot and _get_ shot at. I saw a couple more fresh Yankees pop up onto the deck out of nowhere, and I finally understood: they hadn't been on deck the first time around because they weren't being used for the fight against Magruder's cannons. They were probably lounging in their bunks the entire time. Our first round of shooting had taken them by surprise, but now they were all on deck, loaded and ready for us.

"Keep them off those cannons!" I ordered. "Lang, you and I are looking for officers." He nodded beside me, and we pulled away from the crush. I took a shot on a man with a gray beard, but missed completely. Lang's musket soon fired beside me, and a voice that had been shouting orders was silenced.

"Good!" I cried.

The Commodore came to kneel behind us as we reloaded. "Try to get that one," he murmured, pointing to a man just walking from the cabins to the middle cannon. "That's Commander Wainwright-he'll be the glue holding them all together. And keep your men focused on the cannons, Major. Musketfire may be a nuisance, but it's a fair sight better than a cannonball in the belly!"

I glanced down my line, embarrassed to see that my men had indeed lost their focus. They were busy exchanging fire with the infantry aboard the _Lane_, and we already had three men down.

"_Get your eyes back on those cannons_!" I bellowed, and not a moment too soon. Commander Wainwright was just reaching to pull the lanyard on the middle cannon, when a spray of musket balls sailed toward him, hitting both his head and his hand. A cheer went up from our lines, but I was proud to see that they didn't lose focus again after that. I was ready to fire again now, but Commander Wainwright was nowhere to be seen. I was just taking aim on an artilleryman when I heard a soft _thud_ beside me. I took the shot, then spun around to see Private Lee sinking down onto the deck. I caught his head as he fell, but there was a river of blood spreading out from his neck. He was already dead.

"Watch that fire, boys!" Green shouted from behind us. Another cotton bale was ablaze, this time in the middle of our line. He sent some of the men in the third row to dousing it while we continued to shoot. All at once the _Neptune_ appeared, ramming into the _Lane_ and throwing her men to the deck. We all stood, unafraid of return fire for the moment, and got off a volley that left a good ten Yankee infantry laying still. Two seconds later, and we were too far past her to shoot anymore.

"Happy New Year from the Horse Marines!" Moore shouted from somewhere down the line. A chorus of laughter followed, but was cut short by the boom of the _Lane_'s aft cannon. I glanced fearfully down my company to see if we had been hit, but we hadn't been the target. The bow of the _Neptune_ exploded in a hurricane of timber, and we all ducked as the debris flew over onto our ship. I felt a sharp pain in my neck, but was relieved to pull out only an inch-long splinter. Commodore Smith ran astern, tears running down his face as he shouted orders for the _Neptune_ to find shallow water.

"She's lost," I said dumbly, unable to believe it. Less than two minutes after her arrival, the _Neptune_ was lost.

It was a hard loss. Our fleet had just been cut in half, and we had already lost our only cannon. The _Neptune_ was already taking on water, riding too low as she sped toward shallower depths. My heart froze as I watched all the men on there, our brothers in the Seventh. They were still shooting hard, and their cannon boomed in triumph even as they sank further. Water was flowing over their deck now; I could see my friends running and grabbing up boxes of ammunition to save it. I didn't breathe again until I saw their hull stick fast into the mud, the whole ship tilted askew; they might get blown to smithereens, but at least they wouldn't drown anytime soon. It was up to us to save them from death or capture now. But they were cheerfully reloading anyway, ready to take on all comers.

"Are you crazy?" Lang shouted in my ear. "Get down!" He yanked me down onto my knees just as a flock of musketballs thudded into the cotton above my head. Company B was shooting again from their side now. Not counting Lee, we had ten men dead on our side.

"We need to get them out of the way," I said, my voice shaking. I cleared my throat. "Move the dead. We don't want to be tripping over them when it's our turn again. Moore, find some lads from C to fill in the holes." A crowd of eyes met mine, all humor gone. "Now," I said roughly. "There's no time."

I grabbed Lee's shoulders, gesturing for Lang to get his feet. We looked around, and tears filled my eyes when I realized we didn't have anywhere to put him. The deck was a mess of spilled ammunition, sloshing buckets of water for the cotton fires, and men running back and forth.

Lang bit his lip, nodding out toward the water.

"_No_!" I growled. We finally laid him down right up against the rail, where the first cotton fire had left a pile of ash. We'd be using his body as a trench wall, but it was better than throwing him overboard. Another dead man was soon laid on top of him; there wasn't any room to spare, and I had to admit that the extra protection might save a couple of lives the next time around. I tried to tell myself that this was better than leaving our dead behind, as we had done in our mounted retreat in Colorado, but I just couldn't stop looking at Lee's face. I finally tore a square of canvas off the nearest cotton bale and covered him up. I breathed easier after that, and finally got to reloading my rifle.

"You're hurt," Lang said accusingly. My hand drifted up to my neck, and came away covered with blood. I wiped it on the nearby cotton bale, looking curiously at the holes just made by the Yankee's muskets. How deep did the balls make it inside the cotton?

"Well?" Lang sighed.

"Splinter, from when the _Neptune_ was hit. I'm fine."

"You always say that."

Another boom sounded, and another round of splinters rained down; we had been hit this time, but not badly. The cannonball had just grazed the rail on the port side, losing its momentum as it hit one of the cotton bales.

"I _hate_ splinters," I growled, picking another one out of my face. Yet another reason to keep my feet on dry land. Or better yet, in stirrups.

"We're going to ram again," the Commodore announced. "With everything we've got. This one's for the _Neptune_!" We let out a half-hearted cheer, glancing back toward the ship in question. She was lower in the water now; only her bow was properly stuck and the stern was still sinking. But off in the distance, our tender were finally arriving; if we could keep the _Lane_ busy, she would hopefully be able to start evacuating the _Neptune_. I imagined there was some conventional rule about not firing on tender, but then these were Yankees. Honor wasn't in their dictionary.

We took a wide turn out into the harbor then, to get more momentum for the ram. Commodore Smith was twitching with excitement now, and fingering the hilt of his sword. My hand drifted to my own saber, and I remembered, with a twist to my stomach, that the second half of this battle was supposed to be fought on the deck of the _Lane_.

We started shooting again on the approach. The Yankees had their own pile of dead men on the deck, and they looked meaner this time. One of them seemed to be looking right at me when he yelled for his men to fire. I shot him in the gut.

We hit the _Lane_ again, but it felt different this time. The crunch and groan of timber and metal went on for several seconds, and there was a strange _thud-thud-thud-CRACK_ sound after that. And then we weren't moving anymore. The Commodore's sword flashed out of its scabbard. "We board now!" he shouted. And in a much quieter voice, "Colonel, the shotguns!"

Of the fifteen lads who had volunteered, only ten made their way up to take the guns. Green took one himself, and picked a few others to join him. "Hold," he told them quietly. "Wait until we're right on top of them."

"Fix bayonets!" a Yankee voice shouted. I dropped my Enfield to the deck and took aim with my carbine, trying to find who was speaking. There was an ominous clinking sound as the men on the Lane attached their bayonets onto the ends of their rifles. The moonlight glistened on their blades, which they hoped to stain with our blood.

I _hated_ bayonets.

Unable to find a decorated target, I shot into the crowd of blue, hearing a pained shout in reply. Some of the Yankees were still firing at us, so we crouched down as we ran up toward the bow. They already had a bristling line of bayonets sticking out at us, and were shouting their taunts:

"Why don't you come over for breakfast, you filthy rebels!"

"Send them to drown like the gray rats they are!"

"For God and the Union!"

"FIRE!" Green shouted. A spray of buckshot flew into the faces of the Yankee's front line, and the bayonets danced again in the moonlight as they were dropped.

"_SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS!"_ Commodore Smith cried, leaping out onto the _Lane_. He waved his sword in the air once and then sliced it downward to clash with the rifle of the nearest Yankee. Our crowd began to move forward after him, a slow churn of bodies as we pushed onto a ship that was almost as full as our own.

My breath started to come in quick, shallow gasps. _This is no different_, I told myself sternly. But I still felt sick at the idea of fighting up close and personal with the enemy- because deep down, he was just a man… or a boy. And what was I, but a young man leading a group of boys to kill other boys? It was this burden of command that gave me my courage back. I spun around to face my company, a fierce smile on my face. "This is it, lads!" I called down the line. "If we don't stop them, they'll slaughter the Fourth, and the women and children in that town will suffer for it. Fight for their freedom, and for your own! Draw your swords and let them taste the steel of the glorious Fifth! _For the Lone Star_!"

"_For the Lone Star_!" they shouted, and our cries shifted into an eerie chorus of the Rebel Yell. I drew my saber with my right hand and one of the pistols with my left. As I shoved my way over onto the _Lane_, I could see how we were stuck to her; we had rammed right into her starboard wheel, jerking her to a stop and getting ourselves snagged in the process.

I clambered over the bodies of the Yankees who had taken the buckshot, but soon my feet were trampling on gray uniforms as well as blue. I took a deep breath, letting the rage fill me, and then jumped down into the fight. It was a suffocating sensation, and I hadn't a clue what to do first. _Patch_, I thought frantically. My hands ached to pull on the reins, to draw away from the fight long enough to make sense of what was happening. I shoved a blue shoulder with my own, and discharged my pistol into it as soon as I was free. The man cried out and flashed a knife in my face, catching me on the cheek. I jerked away and shoved him again, losing him in the crowd. I suddenly realized that my height was more of a danger than an advantage, and ducked down to shoot as much blue cloth as I could.

When I had emptied the second pistol, I rushed deeper into the press of men, looking for Commander Wainwright. I found him, all right, but he was already dead of his wounds. And standing over him was a _boy_.

He couldn't have been more than ten years old. He had tears running down his chubby cheeks, but he had a revolver in each hand, and he was shooting with both at once. I saw one of my men fall beside him. The boy looked down at him with an angry sob, and then held his left hand up again, taking aim right at Moore's back.

I only had one chance. Another Yankee was bearing down on me, knife raised, and so I did the only thing I could stand to do: I shot that kid right in the hand. He cried out and dropped the revolver just as I turned and sliced my saber at my other foe. He pulled away, looking for an easier target. I spun back around to see the boy picking up his dropped revolver with his right hand, firing it into the crowd again. He pulled the trigger a second time, but nothing happened; he was empty. He saw me staring at him in angry disbelief, and burst into fresh tears.

"You rebel monsters killed my father!" he cried. "Do you want to kill me too?"

"Get below!" I shouted back. He turned and descended down the stairs, but his eyes fell on the dead man at his feet before he left: Commander Wainwright. We really _had_ killed his father, right in front of him. What was a kid doing on a battleship?!

It didn't matter. The next few seconds were a blur of blue and steel, and my saber was knocked out of my hand. I felt something grab my throat, and I fired my last bullet wildly. The Yankee sagged in my arms, but I threw him aside, looking frantically for my saber. But the deck too crowded, and was slick with blood and water now. I was shoved several feet to the left, and then I saw Private Morris on his knees beside a cannon, holding up his arms as a knife came down on top of him. The crowd blurred past me and my bowie knife clashed against the Yankee's with a _screech_. I twisted and stabbed, and moved onto the next man.

I was a blaze of fury now, all pretense at glory forgotten. _Texas_ was forgotten. I was fighting for my life and for my men, and I was armed only with the one weapon I had hoped never to use. I needed my rage now, or I was going to fall apart. I lost myself completely, slashing and stabbing and kicking and punching wherever I saw blue. But then I noticed the sounds of battle beginning to fade away. I risked a glance out at the others, to find Colonel Green's pistol glued to the forehead of a Yankee Lieutenant. A second glance showed me a dozen other Yankees holding their hands up in surrender. We had the ship! I sobbed with wild relief as I realized the killing was over. I turned back to the man I was fighting, who was also staring at his comrades' defeat. He was an older man, his mustache flecked with gray. I flicked my knife up to his throat.

"Yield," I panted through my tears. _Please. _He nodded, turning his knife around to hand it to me. I took it, and he spat on my boots. A cheer went up, and I found myself screaming hoarsely with joy and relief. _Thank God it's over. Thank God it's over._

We drove the prisoners into a tight bunch in the stern. Those of us who still had rifles, or who had picked up discarded ones, stood guard while the rest of us looked to our wounded. A few Yankees were let loose to do the same. I found a saber that seemed to be mine and grabbed it up. It was slick with blood, and I wiped it unceremoniously on a dead Yankee who laid nearby, along with my knife. I looked around at the other bodies on the deck, pleasantly surprised to find they were mostly clothed in blue. I recognized a couple that I had killed, though I also recognized a couple that I _thought_ I had killed, sitting up and moaning or limping over to join their comrades.

A clatter of musketfire made my head snap back over to the _Bayou City_. One of the smaller Union gunboats had come over to help the _Lane_, but we had left a good number of our regiment back on board; there simply hadn't been room for them over here. They rained down on the smaller boat, which quickly thought better of its rescue mission. The Commodore fitted a square of white cloth on his sword and waved it aloft, motioning the Union boat over to talk. I turned back to checking for my wounded. I rolled over two lads in gray, finding them dead. Both mine.

I was just walking back to get a look at our prisoners when I saw a man slouched against the aft cannon, gasping for air. I hadn't spotted him right away because his jacket was more red than gray.

It was Miles Lang.

I rushed over and knelt beside him. "Lang! Where are you hurt? Look at me!" I tore at his jacket to find the wound, but his hand shoved weakly against mine.

"Left pocket," he rasped. He coughed once, and then he stopped breathing. I jammed my fingers onto his throat, but there was nothing. I turned my head away, waiting for the familiar nausea to subside. Then I forced myself to start going through the left side of his jacket, to see what was so important. I finally found it in the inside breast pocket, right above his heart: a letter. It had been stabbed right through by the same blade that had killed him, and the cut was narrow.

Bayonet.

I drew the letter out carefully; it was fragile, soaked with blood. I unfolded it even more carefully, and one hole became four. Most of the writing was ruined with the blood, but the top line was painfully clear.

_My dearest Cynthia._

The nausea hit me again. I couldn't send her this! When we got back to our camp, I would go through his things and see if I could find an older letter; God only knew he wrote them often enough. I would take it myself, if they would let me. I crumpled the ruined one in my fist, watching as his blood seeped out between my fingers. I stood and threw it overboard, and then looked down at my friend. I bent to straighten his jacket. Then I stood at attention and gave him as crisp a salute as I could manage, my hand bloodied and shaking as it was.

.

.

.

After sending his demand for the Union fleet to surrender, Commodore Smith tore down the Stars and Stripes and tossed it overboard. A few of my boys cheered to see it flutter down to the waves, and shot at it. It sank quickly after that.

"Stop that," I snapped. I didn't know why I said it; it was just a piece of cloth. But I had once sworn allegiance to that piece of cloth in school as a boy. Even though I served under a new banner now, there was no reason to disrespect the old one.

"What'd I tell you?" a voice said behind me. It was the Yankee who had yielded to me and spat on my boots. He was talking to one of his fellow prisoners, but his hate-filled eyes were on me. "No sense of honor whatsoever. Like a bunch of rabid schoolboys who just found their daddy's guns. Slavers and traitors!"

He spat the last words directly at me, but I didn't dignify his lies with a response. I crossed the deck again, watching in helpless anger as a man from Company B died in Colonel Green's arms. I glanced back at our prisoners, wondering which one of those devils had killed Lang. But their faces seemed to have lost the monstrous evil that they had worn a few minutes ago in battle; they were just men again. A good half of them were turned toward one of their commanders, who lay propped up in their midst. I vaguely remembered having shot him earlier, right before we rammed the second time. Yes, that was him- the wound was in the belly, but wasn't bleeding too fast. I felt an odd impulse to go and offer my help, but instead I turned back to my own men.

Commodore Smith had just gotten the Stars and Bars strung up, and my pulse quickened as I watched her dance in the breeze. My lips moved mechanically to form the words as those around me began _God Save the South_, but no sound came out. Despite our victory, I hadn't the heart to sing of righteous warfare and glorious death.

I had seen enough of both for one day.


	18. 1863: Eternity in White

**Here is the third and final installment of the mini-story of Jasper's time in Galveston and the end of his human life. **

**A huge warning/disclaimer here: this chapter deals with some rather racist views that were commonly held during the War, by the Confederate leadership, the average American and, sadly, by Jasper himself. I wanted to explore how he might reflect on the institution of slavery at this point in his life, especially considering the irony of the Emancipation Proclamation being issued on the same day as the battle of Galveston. The other irony here is that he's about to enter a life of slavery himself; I imagine eighty or so years of that will give him some perspective. I so wish we had gotten more insight into his character; I've had a blast doing the Civil War research for this miniature story, and I'd be very curious to see what modern-day Jasper would have to say about all of it. There are some further historical notes at the end of this chapter. I hope you enjoy the conclusion!**

**Another disclaimer: this chapter contains direct quotes from _Eclipse_, Chapter 13. Stephenie Meyer owns it all!**

* * *

A Union rowboat came back within ten minutes, but had nothing to report: they were still trying to get word of Smith's demand to Commander Renshaw, who was still aboard the grounded _Westfield_. All the Union ships had hoisted the white flag of truce, and the land battle had also paused. While we waited, the sailors worked to free us from the _Bayou City. _Meanwhile, those we had left over there started bringing us our muskets and half of the ammunition stores, in case we would be entering battle again. Finally, with a rough scraping sound and a jerk, we were two separate ships again. Smith sent the _Bayou City_ ashore to give Magruder a first-hand account of our success, and the support of our muskets.

"The truce may fail," I heard him tell Green quietly. "Renshaw's a good commander, but he's as pig-headed as they come."

I stayed on the _Lane_, with most of my company. Once the waiting had begun, I had taken stock of myself, surprised to find my only injuries had been from the splinters and the knife that had cut me when I first came aboard. The gash ran from the corner of my left eye down almost to my mouth; shallow, but it'd leave a nasty scar. It was a while before I found some clean water with which to wash away the blood. No dirt, I discovered with some surprise; I supposed that was one benefit to being a pirate.

The Union commander that I had shot was taking a turn for the worse. A medic had finally been dug up, but there was little to be done. His face was turning gray. I wished he would hurry up and die already; while I felt no shame for having fired the shot, it was awful to see the pain in his eyes every time he looked at me. If the battle were still going on, I'd be merciful and finish him off. But he was our prisoner now, and that sort of mercy wasn't allowed.

Another rowboat came. Ours this time, with a message of congratulations from Magruder. There was also an older officer that I recognized: Albert Lea, an artillery expert who had worked closely with Magruder in the preparations the week prior. He reported directly to Smith, saying that he had been sent to inspect the _Lane_ for salvageability.

"Go ahead," Smith laughed. "I didn't hurt her too badly. She's ready for anything, so long as you don't mind going in circles!"

Lea nodded, but glanced over at the prisoners. He scanned the faces, and cleared his throat loudly to address them. "Is Edward Lea aboard?" he asked roughly.

The Yankees parted, and the dying commander struggled to rise to his elbows. Lea rushed to his side, kneeling right in the blood.

"Edward," he muttered, staring at the wound.

"Father," was the weak reply. I turned aside, unable to watch any more. A moment later, the elder Lea stormed up to Smith, his face red.

"I want my boy off this ship," he demanded. "I want him taken to the hospital." Not waiting for a reply, he left to find a larger boat to carry him back on.

But not two minutes later, his son's breathing changed. One of his friends had begged to know what he could do to help. He just shook his head, smiling grimly. "It's all right now. My father is here." Then he was dead.

.

.

.

Just after sunrise, the quiet of the truce was shattered by an enormous explosion.

"The _Westfield_," Smith said sadly. "I should have known he wouldn't let us have her." A huge column of smoke began to rise, and the rest of the Union flotilla suddenly threw itself into action. We began to reload, but Smith didn't stir from the rail. "They're running away," he sighed, shaking his head.

We didn't know whether to cheer or to be disgusted. Not only were the ships abandoning their men on land and here on the _Lane_, but they were fleeing under a flag of truce. I walked right up to the Yankee who had surrendered to me and spat on _his_ boots. "So that's what honor looks like," I said fiercely.

He had no reply.

.

.

.

My stomach was growling by the time Green and I reported to Magruder in the city. They ran up to each other grinning like schoolboys, clapping each other on the shoulder.

"Well, Tommy!" The General cried. "Looks like your horse boys can play pirate after all! Well done, man, well done!"

Green had already recovered his calm. "What happened? Why did the battle start so late?"

Magruder's smile turned to a grimace. "Things didn't go as well as we hoped. We got the artillery up to the bridge, and the mules refused to go any farther. The men had to pull them, and you know how slow that can be. And then down at the wharf, things went wrong too- the ladders ended up being too short to reach the docks. They lost the element of surprise, and the Yanks there were Massachusetts infantry. Nasty with the bayonet, that bunch. We were about to sack the whole thing when you finally joined the fight. What took _you_ so long?"

"We were there and ready at one o'clock," Green said stiffly. "But the _Lane_ spotted us. We had to move back several miles." He looked back out at the water. "Shame about the _Westfield_. I heard she was grand. Renshaw's going to have a fit."

"You haven't heard?"

"What?"

Magruder boomed out a laugh. "Renshaw's dead. Blew himself up with the damned ship!"

Green and I looked back at the column of smoke again. "Thought that was only in the stories," Green muttered.

"Oh, he didn't do it on _purpose_," Magruder said gaily. "But back to business. We won the day, but the blockade's not going to take this lightly. I want those civilians out of the town, and I want to start getting them out by noon today. I'd like to evacuate them back to Houston, just in case. Think some of your boys can handle that?"

"We can handle anything, sir," I said gravely. He finally noticed me, peering at the wound on my face.

"I believe you can, son," he said with a nod. He turned back to Green. "Of course, I want most of your boys to stay on the ships. We'll probably be fighting them off again before the week is out."

Green and I exchanged a dark glance. "We're doing this again, sir?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Of course!" Magruder cried. "This is one of the best ideas I've ever had! Galveston is only the beginning. We'll wait to bit to make sure the Port's secure, but then I'd like your boys to have a shot at retaking Sabine Pass… on the ships, just like today. Now, how did you like the cotton? It's up to you if you want to keep it."

Green looked to me again, and I nodded uncertainly. "I think we'd like to keep it, sir," I said. "But we'd better douse them before the engagement next time. They caught on fire more than once during the battle."

"And my boys need a rest," Green insisted. "They're sleeping on their feet."

"Fine, fine. All right, Tom. Your boys can catch forty winks, but only on the island. I want them back on the boats by noon. Just spare a couple for the evacuation, and give me a list of whatever supplies you need."

"What of my dead?" Green asked. "They're still on the ships."

They started making more detailed plans, and Magruder eventually moved on to speak to someone else. I just stared out at the water, a dismal cloud settling over me. We were going to do this _again_? The very thought turned my stomach. It was bad enough that I was going to have to go back on board and clean up the bodies of my friends; now we were going to steam down the road and do it all again. The rocking and the vomit and the ramming and the butchery at close quarters...

"I volunteer, sir." The words left my mouth before I had even finished thinking them.

Green turned halfway to me, his eyes still on the note he was writing. "Mm?"

"I volunteer for the evacuation mission."

"Nonsense! You're a born leader, Whitlock. I need you out on those ships."

"The evacuees will need strong leadership too, sir. The General's only releasing a couple of us for the job, and it'll take some doing. Anyone can lead trained soldiers into battle, but I reckon it takes a born leader to wrangle a crowd of panicked women and children. You need me for _that_."

He opened his mouth to protest, but I didn't give him the chance. "Moore can handle Company A for a couple of days. He's due for a promotion, anyhow. This will be a good test for him. And you'll be there, and the Commodore. Besides, these evacuees are headed to Houston. You'll need someone to give the full report to the brass there- someone you and Magruder can trust to speak for you."

"You mean someone like-"

"I'd be honored, sir," I said sharply.

"Sibley wasn't kidding about you," he muttered, turning back to his paperwork and beginning to erase. "Could talk a mule into believing it was a chicken."

"Thank you, sir."

.

.

.

"Now look here, Major- what did you say your name was?"

"Whitlock, ma'am."

"Look here, Major Whitlock. I am not running off to Houston with one measly trunk of baggage. What do you expect my grandchildren to wear when they're in the city?!"

I took a deep breath, wishing I could borrow some of Green's calm right now. I could put the fear of God in a fresh recruit when I put my mind to it, but the venerable matron standing twelve inches from my chest required a bit more decorum. I forced out a tolerant smile, trying to find the right mix between charm and authority. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear, Mrs. Taft. This is an evacuation, not a pleasure cruise. One trunk per family, and if you would kindly make your household ready within the hour, I would be most appreciative."

"_I_ would be most appreciative, Major, if you'd let me be! I can fit all this and more in the buggy."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, ma'am. We only have so many carts and buggies that are fit for the journey. You'll be assigned another family to share with. Your trunk may or may not be with you, but we'll see it's reunited with you when we make camp tonight. We leave in one hour." I punctuated my orders with a crisp half-bow and spun on my heel to leave.

"Well, I _never_!" she huffed to my back. I chuckled and moved on down the street, shaking my head as I heard her door slam shut. I was beginning to see how so many civilians were still in the town; Galveston was a little world all its own, many of its inhabitants living and dying without ever stepping foot on the bridge. I had no doubt that, left to themselves, they'd happily barricade themselves in for the long haul, shooting out their gable windows at any Yankees who dared to march down their streets. I might have bitten off more than I could chew here. And I did feel a touch of guilt at leaving my regiment for three days. But while shooting and soldiering would get the war won, this was what we were fighting for: the freedom of our land and its people. And sometimes, managing those people required a finer weapon, one far more difficult to wield: tact. And tact, I could do.

Hopefully.

I called at the next house, but moved on when I saw signs that it was vacant. I rapped on the oak door of the next one, and it opened to reveal the most _beautiful_ creature I had ever laid eyes on. My hat was off my head in a flash, but my mouth didn't appear to be working. Her hair was as black as midnight, laying in feather-light curls around her shoulders. Her skin was the color of fresh cream, and her _eyes_…

"Mama! The Yankees is here!"

The girl laughed, tousling the hair of the wide-eyed lad bouncing at her side. I finally saw the glint of gold on her finger and felt a palpable stab of disappointment. "Now Georgie, do you think a Yankee would call on us like that, all clean and proper and well-mannered?"

He looked quite disappointed. "Guess not." The end of his toy rifle clacked to the floor, the barrel still held limp in his hand.

There was a beat of awkward silence, and then I remembered that I was supposed to speak first. I bowed slightly, tearing my eyes away from the beautiful sight before me. "Major Jasper Whitlock, ma'am, Texas Fifth Mounted Rifles. I hope you and your family are well, after the recent unpleasantness?"

She dropped a miniscule curtsy. "Susannah Brandon. My husband John is in the 11th Mississippi. This is my son, George, and I've a little girl sleeping upstairs with my aunt." She smiled again. "And yes, we are quite well, thank you."

I replaced my hat, scrambling for something polite to say. _Married, Whitlock!_ "I've heard that's a mighty fine regiment, Mrs. Brandon. I'm sure your husband is safe and sound."

Her eyes sparkled, as if she knew some secret I didn't. "I know he is."

"Now, I'm here to administrate the evacuation of the-"

"Yes, we're ready," she interrupted cheerfully. She moved back a step, waving her hand over a monstrous pile of parcels and trunks. "I've been packed for days! You've kept me waiting a long time, Major!"

I smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. We'll be ready to leave within the hour. Only you'll need to pare it down a bit; quarters will be tight on the trip to Houston, and so I'm asking each family to limit their baggage to one trunk. Arrangements for the rest will have to be made another time."

Her smile finally faltered. "One trunk? But the weather has been so tricky lately! One never knows what to wear this time of year, and I don't quite know… why, I couldn't possibly do with less than four trunks!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," I said again, feeling more empathetic than I had with Mrs. Taft. "But it's the best way to bring out as many people as we can at once."

She recovered immediately. "Of course," she said, reserving only one mournful peek at her luggage pile. "We'll be ready in an hour. Are all the town leaving together, then?"

"No. We'd like to begin immediately, and so we'll be taking those who are ready first. Do you have any extra carts or buggies that would be fit for a long road? Any horses shoed and ready?"

"I don't know… let me check. This isn't my home; my husband sent us here to stay with my aunt before the fighting began in Corinth. One moment please, Major." She disappeared, leaving Georgie alone to stare up at me.

"You been in the battle last night, Major?" he asked boldly.

"A little."

"I heard the cannons," he announced, still staring. "We licked em' good, didn't we Major? When I'm tall enough I'm gonna put on gray and kill me some dirty Yankees, just like you and Daddy!"

I finally realized what he had been staring at this whole time: the fresh cut running down the side of my cheek. I looked down at the innocent, smooth skin of his own cheek, and then at the toy rifle in his hand. And then I remembered another son: Edward Lea, the Yankee commander I had shot this morning… lying in his own blood on the deck of a ship while his Confederate father looked on in anguish. And then another: the Wainright kid, shooting wildly at my own men with tears rolling down his face and onto his father's corpse. I didn't know anything about children, much less how talk to them. But it broke my heart to see the excitement on this boy's face. Had I ever been this young?

I knelt down until my face was level with his. "I'd be honored to serve alongside such a brave lad," I told him. "And you should always be ready to defend your country and your loved ones. But while there may be honor in warfare, there is no glory. Especially not in this war, Georgie. The enemy is just another young man: somebody's son, just like you. Maybe even somebody's husband or daddy, with a little boy waiting for him to come home. Can you remember that?"

"Yes, sir," he mumbled.

"Two carts and horses," Mrs. Brandon announced triumphantly, returning from the rear of the house. "We can have them hitched and ready before you return. We've only two slaves here anymore, and they can fit in the one cart with us; the other one's all yours."

I stood up to my full height nodded my gratitude. "And if you would see each cart stocked with grain for the horses, I'd be much obliged. I'll return in an hour."

She curtsied again. "I'll be waiting."

.

.

.

I only brought Lockewood with me, much to Moore's relief. He didn't like the rocking ships any more than I did, but he said he would "rather face a sour stomach and a whole armada of Federal gunboats than escort a bunch of whining, fainting females into safekeeping!" I kept the news about his promotion to myself, since I hadn't officially gotten Green's endorsement, but we could hopefully get on with that after I returned. Moore had done well in the battle, keeping the men around him calm and focused. And even though his new rank would be lower than Lang's had been, he would naturally become my new right hand.

We had almost sixty evacuees ready for the first wave, all told: women and children and old men, and a good number of household slaves. And one particularly sour passenger: young Master Wainwright, whose hand I had shot aboard the _Lane_ early this morning. My orders were to deliver him directly into military custody when I arrived, so that his return to his surviving family could take place as soon as possible.

He seemed to remember me with a feeling somewhere between hatred and awe. I placed him, sling and all, in the cart with the Brandons, hoping he and little Georgie would get along. But he refused to "speak to the rebels", and once Georgie heard _that,_ they had to be placed at separate ends of the cart to keep their fists quiet. A pair of spinsters down the line were complaining that they didn't want to ride in the same cart as their slaves, for fear of getting lice.

Moore might have been on to something.

I pressed them until well after dusk, wanting to camp beside Clear Creek and keep the whole thing to two days if at all possible. I still didn't know how many men Magruder was planning on sparing for the evacuations, or how long the entire operation would take; Lockewood and I would need to hurry back in case there was another group waiting for escort. And besides, I didn't much like the idea of tarrying here in the middle of nowhere. The land stretching between Galveston and Houston was open for settlement now, but there was still the occasional raid by the remnants of the Karankawa tribe. They had sided with Mexico in the War for Independence, and hadn't exactly been well treated afterwards. They would probably love the chance to come drop in on our party once they saw there were only two cavalry on guard. Rumor had it they ate the flesh of their enemies… while he was still alive and watching.

We reached Clear Creek at eight o'clock. I listened to complaints and shifted baggage and people for another good hour before I got myself a bite to eat. Once we had tucked our charges in for the night, Lockewood and I had our dinners on our feet as we walked a circle around the encampment.

The landscape was quiet; too quiet. Shouldn't there be more animals stirring? I shoved the last of my rations in my mouth so I could have my hands free, washing it down with a splash of lukewarm coffee. I shrugged my rifle off my shoulder, aiming at the dark emptiness in front of me. Something was wrong here… or somewhere nearby. I could feel it. I scanned the horizon again, positive I would find something out of place. When I heard a sound behind me, I spun around, rifle and all.

Lockewood busted out laughing, holding his hands dramatically in the air. "Easy, Major! I ain't a vampire."

"Vampire?" I muttered, lowering my rifle.

"Sure. Remember those ghost stories last week? That those Virginians was telling?"

I nodded, looking over my shoulder into the shadows again. Fictional monsters were the least of my worries; a redskin with a grudge was another matter.

Lockewood took a swig of whiskey, offering me the flask as well. "Well. Right before we shoved off the other day, I heard it happened again. Another _three_ people went missing. One of 'em turned up with the tide, throat all chewed out."

I paused, the flask halfway to my mouth. "Where?"

He nodded back the way we had come. "I dunno. One of those pokey little settlements we passed when we was riding here last week." He spat on the ground authoritatively. "Still think it's vampires."

I smiled down into the whiskey, taking a greedy swallow of its warmth. Lockewood was a steady soldier, but it was a miracle he'd even made it to Sergeant. The man could barely write his own name, much less be trusted to have a serious conversation for longer than two minutes.

He took back the flask, stowing it away inside his uniform jacket. But he was using his left hand instead of his right. "Did you get hurt in the battle?" I asked sharply.

"I'm fine, Ma," he growled, rolling his eyes. He turned to finish his rounds.

"Get back here, Sergeant," I ordered with a sigh. These boys _did_ need a mother sometimes; even ones like Lockewood who were years old than me. "Jacket off."

He reluctantly obeyed, sliding his jacket off his shoulder with a wince. "There's no wound," he protested when I went for the buttons of his shirt. "Honest! I got knocked over in the fight and this whale of a Yankee landed on top of- ow!"

I frowned, feeling the swelling and knots in the muscles around his shoulder. "And so you thought volunteering for a four-day ride was a good idea."

"It's a fair sight better'n feeding the fishes again, ain't it?" He pulled his jacket back on, snatching up his rifle again. "I'll be fine."

"You better be," I threatened. I had ridden mile after mile, day after day with an injured shoulder on the retreat from Valverde, and I knew how painful it could be. The old ache in that shoulder flickered as if in response, and my eyelids drooped; I hadn't slept in two days. "You get first watch, Lockewood, just for being so stubborn. I'm going to bed."

"G'night, sir."

I shouldered my rifle and headed back toward the camp. "Wake me in four hours. Oh, and Sergeant?"

"Yes, Major?"

I turned and gave him a teasing wink. "Watch out for those vampires."

.

.

.

Crossing the creek the next morning took far longer than it should have. Most of the horses had to be unhitched and led across, and I had to commandeer the strongest slaves to get the carts, buggies and wagons across. The venerable Mrs. Taft put my patience to the test again as she put up a fuss about crossing the creek on foot "at my age!" I politely informed her that I'd be more than happy to carry her across myself. She finally took my hand with a huff of protest and allowed me to escort her across the safest rocks.

Most of the evacuees were in a similar mood as we crossed. I promised them warm beds and a hot supper in Houston tonight, if we could all do our best to make good time. There'd be no stopping the rest of the day, save to water the horses and refill canteens; all meals would have to be taken cold and on the ride. Everyone did their best to shuffle their belongings accordingly, and I had to settle a few more arguments before all were ready to begin moving again.

But after we got underway, things calmed down; everyone was too busy being jolted by the quick ride to complain or argue. The sky was mercifully blue, and while it was still chilly, I really couldn't have asked for a finer day. We stuck close to the railroad for most of this second day's ride, and there was no sign of Indians, so I let myself relax. Troublesome details aside, this mission wasn't half bad. It was nice to be riding across the plain in the cool weather, and now that everyone was done complaining, I felt a warm sense of purpose in protecting civilians directly like this. My regiment had spent so much of the past two years out in the frontier, riding and fighting hard; we hadn't seen much of Texas or of her fairer citizens. I had attended a couple of balls during our recuperation this autumn, and even danced a bit here and there. But truth be told, I felt out of place at such functions. I belonged out here, riding across the grand openness of my homeland, defending her against her enemies.

Still, it was nice to be reminded what we were fighting for. And I couldn't help but steal an occasional glance at some of the younger ladies in our little wagon train. Not all were fair, delicate beauties like Mrs. Brandon; the Texas I knew bred sturdy, intimidating women like Mrs. Taft. I had never given much thought as to what kind of woman I'd like to find myself growing old with; I was too busy trying to survive the War to bother much about that kind of future. But now with nothing to do but ride and think, I decided I rather liked the idea of winding up a peaceful veteran, perhaps with a ranch of my own and a little family. I felt myself blush as, just for a moment, I imagined a woman like Mrs. Brandon standing at my side. For now this was enough; to fight for my homeland, to protect the innocent, and to find my family in those I served with. Still… John Brandon was a lucky man. I just hoped he would live to know how lucky he was.

.

.

.

Lockewood was obviously feeling his injured shoulder more and more as the day wore on. By the time the sun passed overhead, his expression was a permanent grimace. But there was nothing to be done, short of ordering him to hitch a ride in one of the carts. But then his pride would hurt more than his shoulder; and besides, staying on horseback was probably the smoother option.

Patch was also having trouble. I had felt his gait change pretty early in the morning, and now he was clearly short-striding with his left rear leg. I dismounted and checked his hooves, finding nothing wrong. An hour later we all stopped to water at a pond, and I felt over the muscles in his leg, finding a tightness in part of his thigh. I kneaded it the best I could, earning a scolding snort.

"Hold still," I scolded him, digging in with my elbow. "I leave you alone for two days and now you're getting old on me."

It was more likely they hadn't exercised him properly while I had been away. I'd have a sharp word for those grooms when I got back to Galveston. But Patch was more interested in getting a cube of sugar for his troubles. He kept nuzzling me harder and harder until I stumbled away, holding my hands up in surrender. "Hey, sorry! I'm fresh out. I promise you'll have oats tonight, though." His gait was surer after that, but not for long. I walked when I could.

At least Georgie and the Wainwright kid seemed to be getting along now, and Mrs. Taft had blessedly decided to give me the silent treatment. We had an uneventful ride the rest of the afternoon, save for my worries over Lockewood and Patch. I was anxious to get back to Galveston tomorrow night, if I could manage it; I might be needed to escort another group of evacuees, and there was always the possibility of the Union flotilla coming back with bigger guns. But neither Lockewood nor Patch were in a condition to make a hard ride tomorrow. I might need to leave them both behind, but that worked out just fine; it would be easier on Lockewood's pride if I spun it in such a way that I needed him to look after Patch and bring him to join us later in the week.

We reached Houston just after dusk. Some of the evacuees melted into the city streets without even telling me. I didn't mind the smaller group, but I chided myself for not getting everyone organized beforehand. I was so used to handing out orders and following them, that I had forgotten how unpredictable civilians could be. But I supposed that meant they were no longer in my care, so I didn't trouble them. When I reached the barracks I dismounted and walked down the line of my remaining charges, asking them all to remain in formation until their safe arrival could be documented and arrangements made for those who had no family in Houston.

As I passed Mrs. Brandon's cart, I saw Georgie and the Wainwright kid playing as though they had always been best friends. Georgie was hiding behind his Great Aunt, shooting with his wooden rifle, and…

I strode angrily up to their cart, making Mrs. Brandon jump in her seat and the baby in her arms wail. "Give me that," I ordered, holding out my hand. The Wainwright kid blushed and handed me his weapon. What _idiot_ had returned his father's pistol to him?! I spun the cylinder, ensuring it was empty. But procuring a bullet wasn't impossible. I jammed the pistol into my belt, giving him a disapproving glare.

"Magruder said I could keep it," he blurted out, his face growing redder.

"You'll get it later," I said tersely. "I'll see that it's placed with your belongings and given to your family."

"Oh, let them have their fun," Mrs. Brandon protested, shifting the baby in her lap. "What harm could a little boy do with an empty pistol?"

"Plenty," I snapped. I wondered if Georgie's new friend had told him what he had been doing with that pistol just yesterday morning. I wondered if he had told him _who_ had shot him in the hand. But then I remembered I wasn't speaking to one of my men. "My apologies, Ma'am."

"It's quite all right, Major. It's been a long day for all of us."

I nodded. "I appreciate your help with… him," I finished lamely, nodding toward the Wainwright kid. What should I call him? "The prisoner?" That didn't seem quite right. "At least they seem friendly now," I added. The boys had already adapted their game, replacing the lost pistol with an improvised bow and arrow.

Mrs. Brandon's eyes sparkled in that odd way again, like she was carrying a secret. She leaned closer. "Georgie said something very wise this morning, when I told him how nice it was that he and the Wainwright boy were playing together. He said, 'the enemy is just another young man, Mama; somebody's son, just like me'. Now where do you suppose he learned such lofty manners?"

I felt myself grinning; her light mood was contagious. "I haven't the faintest notion, Ma'am."

"Thank you for your escort, Major Whitlock," she said. Her brow suddenly creased in maternal worry. "You be careful on the ride back, now."

I tipped my hat. "I will, Mrs. Brandon. Good luck to you."

.

.

.

I had spent a lot of time in Houston this fall, so it was immediately obvious that something was different around the barracks. Everything was cleaner than usual, a fresh flag was flying, there were too many sentries posted…

"What's going on?" I asked the Major who was escorting me in.

"You haven't heard? The President's here."

I nearly stumbled over my feet. "President _Davis_?"

He chuckled, continuing his brisk walk. "That's the one. He spent Christmas with family in Mississippi, and now he's making a tour of the entire Trans-Mississippi theatre before he heads back up to Richmond. You'll meet him in a moment; he's gathered all the nearby brass for a talk."

I swore under my breath, suddenly aware of my appearance. I raked my fingers violently through my tangled hair and did my best to brush the trail dust off of my uniform while I walked. I didn't know the first thing about how to behave in front of a President! Did I salute or bow? What was I supposed to say, if he spoke to me? The other Major chuckled again, and too soon opened the door to a private conference room. I had been in here once or twice before, but now it was all done up: portraits and framed maps on the walls, a merry fire snapping in the hearth, a luxurious red carpet laid out. Several Generals and two civilians were crowded in chairs around an enormous desk. I had never seen so much rank in one room before. And seated behind the desk was _Jefferson Davis._ He looked smaller and thinner in real life, but otherwise he was spitting image of a sketch I had once seen on a handbill. He sat in the armchair with a strict military posture, his long fingers resting on the map laid on the desk. He still favored the old style of collar, the kind that makes you hold your chin up all day long. He looked up as we entered, his eyes bright and piercing. I snapped to attention alongside my escort.

"Major Jasper Whitlock, sir," he announced as we both saluted to the group at large. "Just arrived from Galveston with a group of evacuees."

"Excellent!" said a familiar voice, and with relief I recognized General Anderson, who was in charge here in Houston. "We received a courier yesterday, but all we know is that we had the victory. Step forward, Major Whitlock, and tell us all about it! Major Thompson, you'll see the evacuees are situated."

"Yes, sir!" He gave another salute and turned to go.

"Wait." I fumbled inside my jacket, producing the list I had scribbled and also the pistol from my belt. "Some have already made arrangements and… left the group," I admitted with a blush. "And this needs to be packed up with the belongings of a boy, last name Wainwright. He's the son of one of the U.S. naval commanders. General Magruder sent him along to be, ah, processed." I blushed again. "_Processed"?! Oh, nicely done, Whitlock! _ I cleared my throat, stepping boldly up to the desk. I drew out the packet that General Magruder had hastily prepared, unsure who to offer it to… the President, surely.

"General Magruder sends his regards, Mr. President," I said in a clear voice as I offered him the packet.

"This sounds like an interesting tale, Major," the President said. His voice matched his appearance: thin but strong. "You are to be congratulated on this momentous victory! What is your regiment?"

"Texas Fifth Mounted Rifles, Mr. President."

"Ah," he murmured absently, thumbing through the papers. He frowned slightly. "One of Sibley's, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. President."

"Mmm."

Everyone waited as he perused the contents of the package. He finally looked back up at me, restacking the papers neatly and passing them to the General on his right. "A fine victory, indeed!" he proclaimed, now glancing down at the map. "But Magruder's account was hardly exhaustive. I think you had better give us all the details, Major, from the very beginning."

I drew a deep breath and began to speak, telling them everything I knew. President Davis, and on occasion some of the others, interrupted me often with questions or requests for further detail. I was sweating bullets by the end, but General Anderson gave me an approving nod.

"General Magruder plans to use the cottonclads, and our cavalry regiments, again at the earliest opportunity," I said in closing. "He feels the method was a success, and hopes for a similar victory in retaking the Sabine Pass."

"And dismantle the blockade, piece by piece," the President finished for me, looking disinterested. "I'm not sure what he hopes to accomplish."

I looked up. "Sir?"

He ignored me, his eyes drifting back to the papers circulating between his audience as he addressed them. "Magruder is requesting more troops for this next venture."

One of the Generals shook his head. "Impossible." His simple pronouncement was echoed around the group. One of the civilians protested, arguing a point which seemed valid: that Galveston was less likely to fall again if another port were successfully retaken; the enemy would need to dilute their efforts in order to seal the blockade again.

"As would we, in defense of our little breach," the President argued. "And we can scarce afford to dilute ourselves further, while they most certainly can. The reclamation of Galveston is of great import, and any extra effort should be exerted in its defense. Our Federal counterparts will recognize our new opportunity for the smuggling of valuable goods, and will concentrate their own efforts in their interference of our trade." He picked up a pencil and began drawing wide arcs across the Gulf of Mexico, making a few notations even as he spoke.

"All the more reason to have two ports," the civilian shot back. "Then they'll be obliged to stretch and thin the blockade out further, and we'll have more success."

The President held up his hand. "This discussion is meaningless, gentlemen. We simply do not have the resources to fortify the Port of Galveston any further, much less double such fortification at secondary ports along the Texas coast. The defense of the Mississippi River is _paramount_. If Vicksburg or Port Hudson fall, we will have much graver concerns than how many holes we have cut in the Union Blockade. We have achieved one, and at a strategic point; let us be grateful for this, and employ its freedom to our best advantage. But I will not sacrifice the more imperative advantage on the Mississippi for it."

"Then we tell Magruder to abort his plan," General Anderson sighed, slumping back in his chair.

The President shook his head. "No… no, let him try. That sort of enterprise is the kind of gamble we _can_ afford to make; little to lose and more to gain. But he will need to do it with what he already has."

The other civilian, the one who hadn't yet spoken, leaned forward eagerly. "Perhaps when France-"

"_France_!" President Davis exploded, suddenly coming alive. "Do you think France will suddenly grasp our hand in friendship now? Tell me, Major Whitlock," he added angrily, turning back to me. "Are your family slaveholders?"

I blinked, taken aback by the unexpected question. "Yes, Mr. President."

"And are you aware, Major, of how Mr. Lincoln celebrated the New Year yesterday, at the very hour when you were risking your life to defend your state and nation?"

"I… no, sir. How?"

"He celebrated by officially issuing his _Emancipation Proclamation_. Your property has officially been declared _free_, Major, simply by the flick of Mr. Lincoln's pen. This, from the same man who proclaimed he would happily crush our revolution without freeing a single slave!"

"Quite the change of heart," one of the older generals said grimly.

"Hardly," the President scoffed. "Have you read the entirety of the Proclamation? It is a thinly veiled call to servile insurrection, friends. Lincoln casts himself as the benevolent rescuer of the Negro race, heroically calling them to arms against their tyrannical masters. He _knows_ what would befall those slaves foolish enough to heed his call, what we would be forced to do to prevent the sort of abomination that took place in Haiti. They are simply his newest tools, _freed_ to die for his campaign. An endless supply of instant soldiers, without the cost or bother of training and outfit! And should he succeed in his aggression against our Confederacy, what future would the survivors face? The institution of slavery is not only necessary to the survival of our economy; it is the natural order of things between our races. The slave population in America are- or _were- _perfectly contented with their lot. He would have those poor souls trade a life of security for death, or for a future in which their homeland has been completely devastated by the very act that freed them! I wonder what his welcome will be for the starving masses who will be emigrating north once they realize how valuable their new _freedom_ truly is? Their welfare is his last concern, our destruction his first. He is no longer interested in _reuniting_ the broken pieces of his beloved nation; he has, with this proclamation, plainly announced his intent to impoverish and _subjugate_ us, alongside the convenient extinction of the Negro race! It is the greatest- the _largest_\- crime against humanity that has ever been committed! Does this strike you as the type of man to whom you wish to return your allegiance, Major Whitlock?"

I hoped my ignorance wasn't written all over my face. I hadn't a clue what half of his speech meant, but the correct answer was obvious. "No _sir_, Mr. President," I said hotly.

"Of course not! But to the observer across the sea, Mr. Lincoln has painted a touching portrait. Behold the glittering United States of America, struggling to blossom in so-called _moral_ progress despite the bigoted reluctance of the rebel South! Those nations who have always benefitted from our slave-driven export will be quick to sympathize with his plight. If they will not assist him, they will certainly excuse themselves from what Lincoln claims is a mere civil war: the birth pangs of a nation reforming itself. And he is not only pulling the wool over the eyes of these distant princes; he is stringing his entire nation along in this new charade of moral superiority. Do you know what they're singing now, in their churches and on the march? Have you heard of this new _Battle Hymn of the Republic_?" Our heads all shook our heads in unison. He thumbed briefly through another neat pile of papers in front of him, bringing out a single sheet. He read in a clear, mocking voice:

_In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,  
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me.  
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,  
While God is marching on._

He slapped the paper down onto the desk. "_That_ is their rallying cry now, gentleman. They now seek to make us the quintessential monsters in this conflict: they for freedom, we for oppression. They cast themselves as the 'terrible swift sword' of God's wrath against us, the rebellious and cruel South. This breed of inflammatory Northern propaganda is being used to wage a war all its own, in the hearts of our former countrymen and, soon, in the malleable hearts of their new _colored regiments_." He nearly shuddered at this last term, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "It is meant to be answered, of course, in the slave rebellion which his proclamation is designed to ignite. It is a shame, gentlemen, a pitiable shame. Even if God grants us victory, which He must, our new nation will be hard-pressed to reclaim her innocence. The slave population will remember the echoing song of their would-be liberators, and will struggle with a new restlessness that was previously unknown. It will take some decades for their hearts to relearn the tranquility and contentment with which they have always toiled."

His passionate speech was interrupted by a creak of the door, opening to reveal a slave girl carrying a tray filled with some kind of evening liquor in glass tumblers. As if in timely exhibit to President Davis' claims, she was the very picture of the peaceful, contented slave he had just been extolling. Her uniform, crisp and immaculate, was made of finer stuff than _I_ would ever be able to afford. Her movements were graceful and unobtrusive, her expression serene, her future secure. Did she really wish for the "freedom" that Lincoln was now offering?

The President and his audience of Generals accepted the drinks, standing and moving closer to the fire. I moved aside, unsure how long I should wait for dismissal. The President lifted his glass, once again the polished aristocrat.

"To your health, sirs, in this New Year, and to our glorious nation! May she thrive and prove victorious against the enemy at every opportunity. "

They drank the toast and their talk turned to lighter matters, but we all startled to the sound of shattering and splashing. The slave girl, on her way out of the door, had accidentally spilled the remaining glass off of her tray, sending its shards and contents across the tile floor next to the map desk. She sank silently to her knees, whisking a towel off of her apron string, and began to clean up the spill as the men returned to their chatter. As she stood to replace the broken pieces on the tray, her eyes lingered just briefly on the map and the papers scattered around it. I tensed in worry briefly, but of course her expression revealed nothing past the placid emptiness so common to her race; for all she knew, she was looking at a child's drawing and a pile of recipes for Christmas dinner. She continued her task, quietly laying the broken glass on the tray and then dipping back down for more. Then she disappeared just as quietly as she had come.

I must have stood there for another hour while the President and his distinguished audience debated over what answer to send with me to General Magruder. In the end, some small allowance was made for the fortification of Galveston, but none for the attempt upon the Sabine Pass. I was finally given a written expression of these decisions and told to return to Galveston with all haste. With a final salute, I left them and returned outside. The stars were out now, and the bustling line of my evacuees had disappeared. Only the sentries and Lockewood remained, half asleep on his feet as he leaned against a hitching post. He was awkwardly trying to massage his injured shoulder with his other hand, which he dropped instantly at my approach.

"Finally, sir! I brought you back some dinner, but it's cold now."

"Good enough," I sighed. I was starving as well as weary; I was supposed to be two hours into the ride back already. We went back to the stables, pulling up two crates to sit on while I ate my cold dinner. Patch nodded in his stall, happily finishing up his own meal of oats and hay. I exchanged a few words with the groom on duty, telling him about Patch's difficulty on the trail and how I wanted him cared for. I explained that I'd be leaving him here for the meantime, and that I'd need a good replacement saddled and ready in ten minutes.

"You're staying too," I informed Lockewood after the groom had moved on. "Now, don't make a fuss!" I warned, pointing threateningly at him with my fork as he began his protest. "There's no telling when I'll be free to ride back here to get him, and don't pretend that shoulder isn't killing you. So you both rest up for a few days, and then bring him down with you to the Pass, or wherever we're at."

Lockewood scowled at me for a good ten seconds, and then leaned forward to whisper. "So, what's he like? The President?"

I hesitated, chewing thoughtfully. "About what you'd expect," I said vaguely. My head was still swimming with everything President Davis had said, and it certainly wasn't my place to criticize our leader… but the whole experience had left me with a bad taste in my mouth. He had a commanding presence and an inspiring way with words, yet there had been something unsettling about his manner, when he had speaking about how thinly spread out forces were. And then again when he had said "Even if God grants us the victory, which He must…" I had distinctly gotten the impression that President Davis _himself_ didn't believe that victory was assured. It had been obvious all along that the odds were against us, but I had thought the War was going well. At least, better than the impression I had gotten tonight. Were things not as hopeful as we had been led to believe? It was even more unsettling to head into this next battle at the Pass, knowing not only that the odds were against us as before, but that our success wouldn't even matter.

And then there was all that talk about Lincoln and his Proclamation. Such things were above my reckoning, but even I understood that the institution of slavery was necessary for the survival of our economy. What _did_ Lincoln intend to do with us, and with the slave population, if he should whip us in the end? I had been so set on winning this War- or dying in it, like as not- that I hadn't given much thought to what it might be like to _lose_ it.

By the time I was done eating, the groom had brought me the new horse. He was a chestnut stallion, three years old; I rather liked the mischievous spark in his eye. After I had secured Lockewood's reluctant promise that he would get his shoulder looked at tomorrow morning, I rose to bid Patch farewell.

"Be good," I warned, tracing the white patch on his neck. He snorted and nosed me in the chest, sending a trail of oats sprinkling down my row of buttons. I scratched him one last time between the ears and mounted the other horse, grinning down at his obvious displeasure. "Jealous?" He snorted again and turned away, giving me the silent treatment. "Yeah, I'll miss you too, pal," I called cheerfully over my shoulder. "I'll see you in a few days."

.

.

.

After such an odd week, it was invigorating to ride at a hard gallop; woke me right up. The horse seemed to think so, too, and I saw no reason why we couldn't make it back to Galveston before dawn. I normally wouldn't have ridden through the night, but I still had that full moon hanging in a clear sky, and I was anxious to get back to my regiment. And besides, I still didn't like the idea of camping out alone in that open space between Clear Creek and Virginia Point.

As I rode, my thoughts drifted back again to everything I had heard from President Davis and the generals. How _did_ I feel about the Proclamation? It didn't affect me that much, personally. I supposed I technically stood to inherit Jedidiah and Ned, back at the ranch… but it was more than likely that Pap had cut me off. I sure didn't have any plans to go back and find out. Anyway, I hadn't joined up to fight in the War of Northern Aggression in order to keep a couple of worn-out ranch hands working for free. I had joined up because Texas had joined up- because she had signed on with a Confederacy that promised not to poke around in our business all the time, trying to run our lives from a cozy white house thousands of miles away. This was the second Revolution, and Lincoln was the tyrant who was refusing to let us go. The President had to be right; this Proclamation was just another one of Lincoln's strategic plays. A damned good one, it sounded like.

I wondered, though, what Jedidiah and Ned would think about the fact that a stranger up in Washington had just declared them free. They were men too, after all; just because they weren't _people_ in the same way I was, didn't mean that words like 'freedom' couldn't set their hearts on fire. I wondered if they would give Pap any trouble at home, once they heard the rumor. I sort of hoped they would. I had been the first to run off, after all. If they had gone and done the same, good luck to them. I would still be here, fighting to my last breath for the Lone Star. Suddenly the words of the Yankee who had yielded to me yesterday came echoing back: _slavers and traitors_. Is that how we would be remembered, if we lost this War? Would these long, grim days of riding and fighting and dying be called... what was it President Davis had said, as he had mocked Lincoln's false nobility? _The birth pangs of a nation reforming itself._

History would judge us in the end; if we did lose, I'd be too dead to care how I was remembered. And if we won, well… there was no reason the Confederacy couldn't reform itself a dozen times over, after we had shaken ourselves free of Lincoln and those like him. Of _course_ slavery was a necessary evil- no nation was perfect, after all. We would continue to grow and change, and we could begin as soon as we had rid ourselves of the tyranny of the Federals. I only hoped I would live long enough to see that day. I was only mortal, after all; whether by living it or laying it down, my life belonged to Texas, and to whatever nation she chose.

.

.

.

I was only a mile or so out of Galveston when the horse started giving me trouble. His gallop turned into a hesitant trot, and all of a sudden he was prancing sideways, tossing his head.

"Steady, now!" I scolded, pulling hard left on the reins. "What's gotten into you?" He tossed his head again, stopping altogether. I glanced around me, shivering as I felt that same crawling sensation I had felt around here last night. Like something was watching me… or someone. Another shiver ran through me as I remembered those stories about the Karankawas eating the flesh of their enemies. I anxiously dug my spurs into the horse's side, but he wasn't budging.

I glanced around again, and then blinked in surprise. Not fifty feet in front of me, where there had been empty ground a second ago, stood three women. Two were fairheaded, and the third had a Mexican look about her… though she must have been a Mestizo, from her coloring. They were just standing there, staring at me. They had no escort, no wagon, nothing. I couldn't have somehow missed these three when we first set out from Galveston, could I? Maybe another group had already been run out this way and they had gotten separated. Either way, they shouldn't be alone out here, especially not with... whatever was out there. As if in response to my worry, the horse shivered under me and suddenly reared, letting out a whinny of distress. The women didn't move an inch.

I fought the horse back down, afraid he would frighten them. I dismounted and moved closer, opening my mouth to offer my assistance. But as the moon shone out from behind a cloud, I froze where I stood: these were the most beautiful women I had ever laid eyes on. Not the fragile, pale beauty of Mrs. Brandon, or some of the girls I had danced with earlier this year: these women were _terrifyingly_ beautiful. And maybe it was just my imagination, but the full moonlight seemed to give their skin a glimmer that was unnatural. It made them all the more beautiful. It struck me now that the two white women were _too_ white. But that fact was soon lost on me as the real shock came: their eyes. They were _red_, red as blood.

Definitely not evacuees.

One of the women leaned in, sniffing me like she was admiring a rose… or a nice steak. "Mmm," she sighed. "Lovely."

She slid an inch closer to me, but the dark-haired girl grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop. Her lips moved as if in speech, but all I heard was a light, musical whisper. "Concentrate, Nettie," she finally said aloud. I felt myself blush as her glorious voice washed over me; this was no mortal woman. She was an angel… or something else entirely. I wanted to reach out and touch her to see if she was real. I wanted to run. I wanted to hear her speak again. She was tilting her head, looking me over with her red eyes the way I'd seen men look over slaves or horses. "He looks right- young, strong, an officer…"

I opened my mouth again to introduce myself, but apparently speech was a skill I had forgotten.

"And there's something more… do you sense it?" she asked the others, turning her head without releasing me from her eyes. "He's… compelling."

The one who had sniffed me-Nettie- smiled. "Oh, yes," she murmured. The smile was beautiful, and yet the way her teeth shone in the moonlight somehow made me decide that running was a very, very good idea. Unfortunately, my feet weren't getting the message.

"Patience," said the dark-haired one, the leader: for she was clearly in charge. "I want to keep this one."

Nettie frowned, and then other one sighed. "You'd better do it, Maria, if he's important to you. I kill them twice as often as I keep them."

Keep? _Kill?_

Maria lifted her chin. "Yes, I'll do it. I really do like this one." She smiled at me, and the hair stood up on the back of my neck. She took one step closer. "Take Nettie away, will you? I don't want to have to protect my back while I'm trying to focus."

"Let's hunt!" Nettie said eagerly. She took the other blonde's hand and they were suddenly running on toward Galveston- so graceful, and _much_ too fast. I was left alone with Maria.

"What's your name, soldier?" she purred, taking another step forward.

"M-Major Jasper Whitlock, ma'am."

Another step. She smiled again. "I truly hope you survive, Jasper. I have a good feeling about you." A final step brought her face an inch from my chest. She looked up into my eyes, and I had the most surprising impression that she was going to _kiss_ me. But there was a blur and a sharp pain in my neck, and she was suddenly standing far away with the back of her hand raised, trembling, to her mouth.

I finally moved forward, to help her. But the pain was spreading fast and hot, down into my chest and out my left arm. I tried to call out to her, but my voice came out a choking gasp. I stumbled over my feet and crashed down onto my knees, staring up at her in confusion. Had I been shot? Were we under attack? I looked around wildly, making the horizon swim until everything was black. My breath was coming faster and faster. I tried to lift my hand to draw my pistol, but I couldn't even find my hand in the fire. It burned hotter still, and I finally let out a scream that sounded far away. As I felt my face dig into the dirt and the flames closed in, Maria's voice was the last thing I heard.

"Yes, Jasper... I have a very good feeling about you."

* * *

**The unnamed slave in Houston who was cleaning up the "spilled" liquor was Mary Jane Bowser. She was a freed slave who was planted in the Davis household as a Union spy by Elizabeth Van Lew, one of the four subjects of Karen Abbot's new book, ****_Liar, Temptress, Soldier, Spy: Four Women Undercover in the Civil War. _Her education and photographic memory, to say nothing of her unique placement and connections, made her one of the most effective Union spies in the Civil War.**

**Pretty much everything in this story was real except for Jasper, Mrs. Brandon, and the invented campfire buddies from Company A. ****Much of Jefferson Davis' dialogue here was paraphrased from his own speeches and memoirs, particularly his very colorful response to the Emancipation Proclamation. ****The _Neptune _really got sunk right away, and the Captain of the _Bayou City_ blew himself up with his own cannon while saying "Well, here's your New Year's present!" The commander of the Union flotilla, Renshaw, blew himself and his men up while trying to scuttle the grounded _Westfield. _Ten-year-old master Wainwright, the son of the _Harriet Lane_'s commander, stood over his father's body shooting two revolvers until he was out of bullets and his hand was shot by an unnamed soldier in the Texas Fifth Cavalry. And Edward Lea really did lay there dying just as his Confederate father came on board to find him. "My father is here" are the famous words that mark the romance of the Battle of Galveston. **


	19. 1950: The Three Musketeers

**This outtake takes place near the beginning of the 1950 story, let's say between chapters 2 and 3. It's okay to read this if you haven't started the main story yet, as it's not too spoiler-y. Basically the "Three musketeers" are Edward's lab group in medical school. This is the closest Edward's ever come to having real human friends; it just sort of happened naturally because they spent so much time together. I thought it would be fun to peek in on one of their studying/basketball nights, and also fun to see Edward through his friend's eyes.**

* * *

**March 1950**

**Nick Lawrence POV**

I tried my best to look attentive as Dr. Harris yammered on and on, but it was _four o'clock_. Didn't this guy ever run out of steam?

"… on the other hand, you could interpret the trend of these findings as indicative of a… are you listening, Mr. Lawrence?!"

"Yes, sir. Loud and clear, sir."

He droned on with renewed energy for another ten minutes. _Why_ didn't I sign up for clinicals at the hospital like William and Edward? Oh, that's right, because I refuse to get up before seven.

He finally released me at four thirty; I think my stomach had started growling louder than he could talk. I had been dreaming about Mrs. Cummings' fried chicken _all day_. The Three Musketeers were on a mission tonight: pass the pharmacology midterm. Take no prisoners, leave no one behind, and leave no drumstick uneaten.

I was the one who had come up with the name. I'm a smart guy, but Gross Anatomy almost did me in. I mean, I guess it's important to know the origin, insertion, blood supply and innervation of every single muscle in the human body, but it all starts to run together after a while and all the ganglia start looking alike, and don't even get me _started_ on how I'm supposed to tell the difference between an accessory paraflocculus and a dorsal paraflocculus. There's a reason I'm going into orthopedics.

Anyway, I was sinking fast, but I had the best lab group in the world. William I had known in undergrad; great guy. And Edward is the new one- he was originally from Boston but he had gone to school in Sweden because his mom had to take care of his grandfather or something. He was the reason we had to have a lab group of three. He's a hemophiliac and so whoever he got paired with wouldn't be able to do much practicing on him, and so he got stuck with us. He was pretty quiet at first, but there's something about hacking up a corpse for four hours a day that brings people together, you know? He loosened up after awhile, once he was done staring at our scalpels like they were about to jump up and bite him. We all became friends pretty quick.

So once they both realized that the practical exams and I weren't getting along, these guys spent day after day drilling me until I had everything right. And when the custodians kicked us out of the lab, we would head over to William's house, which is only a couple miles from the school. The day before the next practical we pulled an all-nighter together. And I'm not a mushy guy, but I was grateful; this was the test that was going to make or break my grade. Five guys had already flunked out and I knew I was next, if I didn't pull it together. We all got as jazzed up as we could on spiked coffee and by four a.m. the mneumonics were getting pretty creative; even Edward was cracking up. Somehow we ended up on William's basketball court at sunrise, playing Sternocleidomastoid instead of Horse. But then I went in there and I _aced_ that practical. Take that, accessory paraflocculus!

So after my genius lab partners had given me the requisite high-fives I made some kind of moving speech about how grateful I was, and how I would name both my firstborn kids after them, and how we were The Three Musketeers and all for one and one for all! At least, that's what they told me I said later on; I was so wired it was a miracle I had even spelled my name right on the exam. I think I slept for three days straight after that. I did pretty well once Gross Anatomy was over, and now it's my turn to keep William afloat. He's as smart as ever, but the poor guy hasn't got the stomach for bodily fluids. It's pretty funny, actually; dissection was no big deal, but he turns all green every time someone mentions blood. And get this: he got assigned to the _Emergency Room_ in his clinicals. Isn't that rich? If he didn't look so pathetically nauseous every time he came out, I'd think it was hilarious. But that's my specialty: every time he looks like he's about to pass out, I just come up with a good joke, and his color comes back. Works like a charm. Edward tries, but his sense of humor is a little impaired. Comes of being adopted by a Brit, I guess. _His_ specialty is talking your ear off, so sometimes that snaps William out of it, or at least puts him to sleep. We'll get him through. All for one, and one for all!

Anyway, the study nights have sort of become a tradition. Every midterm and final, and sometimes in between, we all get together at William's house, study ourselves silly, and shoot some hoops while we quiz each other. And Mrs. Cummings always tucks us in with a big bucket of her famous fried chicken. Almost flunking out of Gross Anatomy was the best thing I ever did, because let me tell you, that fried chicken is to die for.

I pulled up William's driveway at the same time as Edward. It was a gorgeous sunny afternoon, so hopefully we'd go straight to basketball and to hell with the studying. I pulled my lucky basketball out of the passenger seat and chucked it right at Edward's windshield as he drove up. If there's anything that makes me drool more than Mrs. Cummings' fried chicken (and Marilyn Monroe, yow!) it was Edward's car. Sure, this is Ivy League, so we're all pretty well off, but his folks must be _loaded_, because he's driving a Jaguar XK120. You would think the babes would be all over him, but he's too serious for that. And of course he's got his top up on the sunniest day of the year. What a geek. He just shook his head and grinned that oh-these-adorable-kids grin of his as the basketball bounced off the top.

"What, are you gonna sit in there all day?" I shouted, slam-dunking his windshield again. I wasn't allowed to punch him- hemophiliac and all- so his car got all the love.

"I'll be there in a minute," he shouted back through the glass, rummaging in his bag for something. I let myself in and followed my nose to the kitchen.

"Hello, Nick!" Mrs. Cummings said.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cummings," I answered sweetly, then I looked past her. "Hey, what's that?" As soon as she turned around I grabbed a drumstick off the drying rack in front her.

"Stop it, you! _William!_" she called upstairs, slapping at my hand in mid-air. "Edward and Nick are here!"

I spun around and nearly choked on the drumstick when I found Edward standing six inches from my face. "Don't _do_ that," I complained around my mouthful. This guy gave me the creeps sometimes. Why didn't he make noise when he moved, like a decent person? He was so graceful it was wrong. His mom must have put him in ballet when she realized he wouldn't ever be able to play sports.

He laid his books on the counter, nearly dropping half the stack. "Hello, Mrs. Cummings," he purred.

"Hello, dear," she replied, blushing like a school girl. "I hope you're hungry, because I made extra tonight!"

His face fell just for a second. But then he flashed a toothy smile, slipping a drumstick off the drying rack. She just beamed right back at him and pushed another drumstick into his other hand. How come I get my hand slapped, and he gets a blush and extra chicken? What does this guy have that I don't? But I couldn't blame her for wanting to fatten him up.

The truth is, I worry about Edward sometimes. I guess it's the hemophilia, but he's always so pale and tired-looking, and he's got that starving artist look going, and he winces sometimes like he's in pain, when he didn't even move a muscle. Sometimes his eyes aren't even right. But then sometimes his color will be better for a while, and he'll be more relaxed for a few days. So I guess he gets some kind of treatment sometimes that spruces him up- maybe transfusions? I asked him about it once, but he seemed a little sensitive about it. So I leave him alone, but I don't like how he never quite gets past the "pale" stage. And we don't talk about it, but I know William worries about him too. He still feels bad about that one day in Gross Anatomy where we were doing our palpation labs, and Edward said we shouldn't practice on him because he might bruise. William did it anyway, and damned if the poor kid's back wasn't _covered_ in bruises the next day. We've both been more careful with Edward after that. We've made up a couple of special rules for him in basketball, and we always gently tap him on the shoulder in greeting when we get back from Christmas break or whatnot. But he didn't look too pleased about the chicken when Mrs. Cummings offered it; there's no way a man can have a healthy appetite and pass that up. But he dutifully took a couple of bites until Mrs. Cummings was satisfied. She piled the rest of the pieces in a bowl and made her escape just as William finally got downstairs, books in tow. "Hey," he saluted us, stopping by the fridge to get out three bottles of Coca-Cola.

I spun the basketball on my finger. "What do you say we shoot some hoops first? Nice day out there."

"Could we study for a while first?" Edward asked with a frown. "I don't understand the classifications on the cancer drugs."

"Me neither," William sighed, pulling up a stool and cracking open his Pharm textbook.

"Oh, come on you two!" I moaned. "We can study later."

"The chicken will get cold," Edward pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh."

He shoved the bowl my way. "Here, I'm done."

"Did you already eat?" William asked, grabbing a piece.

Edward shrugged, spinning the neck his cola bottle between his fingers. "I got something earlier. And… I don't know, I can't help but think of muscle charts when I'm eating it. How's that gastrocnemius taste?"

William made a face, pulling his drumstick away from his mouth. "More for me," I announced, pulling the bowl closer and opening my own book. Mmm, gastrocnemius. "Okay, I guess I'll have to teach you two jokers how to classify cancer drugs. To a successful midterm," I added, holding my bottle up for a toast. "All for one!"

"One for all," we laughed, clinking all three bottles together.

.

.

.

We broke for basketball at dusk. First we played a little Horse- sorry, Sternocleidomastoid- and then Edward sat out while William and I had a more rough-and-tumble one-on-one. Edward always likes to park himself, his books, and his cola in the shade of this one sickly-looking shrub and shout out quiz questions while we play. The rule is that whoever shouts the right answer first gets control of the ball. Kinda geeky, but I think it helps Edward feel like he's in the game.

I was just lining up for a great shot when Edward piped up with "How do drugs get into hepatocytes?"

"PassiveDiffusionCarrierMediatedTransport!" William barked out, grabbing the ball out of my hands in triumph.

"Them's fightin' words," I growled, slamming my shoulder into his gut. He tumbled away, rolling the ball up over his other shoulder and laughing as he held it up in the air. "Not fair using the height!" I whined, jumping up and reaching for the ball in vain. He dropped it behind his back, slamming me away with one elbow as he spun to start dribbling again.

Edward turned a page. "Where in the body is capillary permeability incr-"

"Glomerulus and liver sinusoids!" I got out in a rush. "Ha!"

William scowled, shoving me the ball. I kept it tight, dribbling around his reach and shooting. The ball swished home. "Wooo!" I scooped it up as it bounced, letting out a cuss as my hand scraped hard against a rough spot in the concrete.

Edward got up suddenly, making for the house. "Where do you think you're going?" I called after him, squeezing my hand to make it bleed more. "I need a doctor over here! I'm dying!"

"Bathroom," he muttered tightly as he disappeared. Traitor. And William was no help either, turning green and looking away. Geez, you would think being around a bunch of med students a guy could get a little help! I wiped the extra blood off on my shirt so I could see the scrape better. Okay, I probably wasn't going to die, but still, some sympathy would have been nice.

"All right," William said with a long-suffering sigh. "Let me see."

I hid my hand behind my back. "You'll pass out."

"I have to get over it," he said, setting his teeth. He examined the scrape like it was a microscope slide, then shook his head. "Yes, I'm afraid it's a mortal wound," he announced, doing a perfect Dr. Patterson impression.

"Say it ain't so, doc!"

"If you're dying, you won't need _this_ anymore-" He punched the ball out of the crook of my arm and it was back on. Edward came back in a few minutes, bandages in tow, and the quizzing resumed.

By the time the stars were all out, we had lost interest in both basketball and studying. Mrs. Cummings brewed up some coffee and brought it out to us, and after she had gone, William slipped a flask out of his pocket and doctored it up. Edward parked himself back by his favorite shrub and William and I sat down under the next two.

"Guess this is it," William mused.

"What's it?" I asked, sipping and wincing at the burn.

"Our last hurrah," he said sadly. "No more all-nighters for the Three Musketeers."

"What about finals?"

He shook his head. "Dr. Patterson told me he's assigning a paper instead. So this is it for us at Dartmouth." He took a sip. "Where did you get accepted?"

I set down my coffee and stretched out on the grass, my arms crossed behind my head. "Harvard, Yale, Princeton. I already put a deposit down at Harvard. You're going there too, right?"

"Absolutely. My old man would have a fit if I went anywhere else. What about you, Edward?"

Edward shrugged, looking down thoughtfully at his coffee. "I was thinking Yale."

I sat halfway up, leaning on my elbow. "Aw, Edward, we gotta stick together! Whoever heard of the Two Musketeers? Come on, go to Harvard with us."

"I'd like to be a bit closer to home. And they're doing some interesting research at Yale. You two will be just fine without me."

"No, we won't," William sulked. "Just think about it?"

Edward shrugged again. He looked up at the stars, getting that weird look he gets sometimes, like he's a million miles away… or maybe a million years. Sometimes he seems way too old. And the funny thing is, he's younger than anyone else in our class, because he was one of those homeschooled-genius kids. He's only twenty, and he actually looks even younger than that sometimes. But right now he looked way too old, like he was already tired of everything. I wished I could have asked him if he was okay, but we keep things light. But I didn't like the idea of William and I not being able to look out for him. I guess I thought of him as a little brother, in a way.

A little smile twisted at the corner of Edward's mouth then, though he kept his eyes on the sky. "It's been a fun couple of years with you two," he said softly.

"Well, it's not like we can't keep in touch," I protested. "And we can get together when we're home on breaks." Edward shrugged again, taking a big gulp of coffee.

"Yeah," William agreed, leaning over his elbow for a drink. "And who knows, maybe we'll all end up practicing in the same area."

I laughed. "Um, no. You're forgetting I'm gonna be the orthopedist for the Cardinals. I'll be on the road, raking in the millions while you two are back here in New England treating old ladies' gout. Losers."

"I'm thinking of a new specialty, actually," William announced.

"What?"

"Anesthesiology."

I snorted into my coffee. "I can't even spell that."

"I think it's a great idea," Edward said. "I still don't have anything picked out."

"Gout," I warned him. "Old ladies. Chicken pox. I'm telling you, pick a specialty or you'll end up in some dusty old office with your wife as the receptionist."

He laughed, looking suddenly younger. "I'll think about it."

William guzzled the last of his coffee and popped up to his feet. "Come on, let's shoot a few more before round two of cramming." He flicked on the lights up on the corner of the garage and we got the game going again. Edward even joined in a little, though we were careful not to jostle him.

It was odd to think this was really the last hurrah for the Three Musketeers. But even if Edward wasn't going to Harvard, I'd make sure we all saw each other now and then before we _really_ went our separate ways. And even then, we'd always have this. I could see us now: three rich old geezers, playing golf at a country club and swapping horror stories about our patients and showing off pictures of our grandkids. Edward and William were the best friends I'd ever had, and I intended to keep it that way.

These are the kinds of friendships that last a lifetime.


	20. 1936: Journey to the Center of the Earth

**Hello again, everyone! Okay, this is the first installment (of two, I think) of Charlotte's and Peter's story. I know I promised some of you that the Aro one would be next, but that one's been slow in coming, inspiration-wise. I'm working on that one too, but I missed you all so I wanted to get something up in the meantime. This is based on the Peter and Charlotte sections in the Illustrated Guide, as well as Jasper's account in Eclipse. Enjoy!**

**P.S. Can anyone spot the line from Back to the Future? :) **

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**Charlotte POV**

_I was born in Lafayette, Louisiana. My father's name was Daniel. He was a professor of... something. My mother's name was Emma. I had an older sister named Mary Ellen- she was taller than me, and she had pale blonde hair like me. Our house was white, two stories, with blue trim like lace under the eaves and the windows. There were roses climbing up the right side of the veranda… red ones, I think, or maybe pink. I used to write poetry, sitting on the porch swing with my feet tucked up. I had a telescope. I had a friend named Laurie. I had a dog. His name was… it was some kind of food…_

I squinted harder, determined to find the dog's name. It was getting harder every day to find new memories. The others were always telling me it was better to forget. And I was sure they were right, but I couldn't help it. All I had were those few precious memories, and I was determined to find as many as possible before they all blew away like spider silk. It really was unfair; now that I was old enough to stay calm and think like this, I found it harder every day to remember new things.

I was thirteen months old now. Thirteen months since I was riding to visit our cousins in Houston. Thirteen months since we decided to keep riding, even though it was growing dark, that surely we would reach the city before too long. Thirteen months since I had woken up, found my long curls gone, and buried my teeth in the throat of the human that was shoved into my hands.

I didn't remember thinking much during my first months as a vampire; they were all snarling and fighting and hurting and desperately drinking every drop of blood they gave me. Somewhere around my sixth month I began seeing beauty again. A drop of dew clinging to a blade of grass, the whole world reflected and distorted in its tiny mirror. A white flower, flourishing unexpectedly on the harsh, dry limb of a cactus. The stars, so familiar and yet so many more than I remembered seeing when my eyes were blue. The sound of laughter, when my fellow Octobers forgot their bloodlust long enough to get a game or a story going. The extra salt on the air when a breeze twisted in from the ocean, miles away.

And talking with Peter. That was beautiful too.

Not Peter himself; I was scared of him. Well, not scared like I was of Jasper, or of _her_… and only at nighttime. During the day, when we were left to entertain ourselves, Peter was different. He was a veteran, and it was his job to keep us newborns in line. He had seemed impressed with me early on; I was a basket case like all the others, snarling and dirty and ragged, but according to him I was the calmest newborn he had ever met. He actually talked to me, for only a few minutes at first and then gradually longer, as my mind settled down. We only talked during the day, even now, and only when he could spare the time. In the daylight we were left to entertain ourselves, and Peter was often busy with the newer soldiers that had begun trickling in at the beginning of March.

But when he had time, he sought me out and we talked. We sat several feet apart; the daytime glitter was enough to remind us that we weren't human. This wasn't friendship, not really. But it was what I needed… what we both needed, it seemed. Nobody else wanted to talk about memories and books and science and music and history… or what we had thought was history. Now we knew that the Vampire Wars lurked behind every human conflict, bending human politics to produce the blood needed to fuel countless armies. I understood now that the war brewing in Europe had been precipitated by the German Coven, thirsty for dominance over the bloodfields of western Europe. The human Nazi regime had their own hungry agenda, but it was a pale reflection of the true purpose behind the War. Hitler was merely their puppet, just as Mussolini was the Volturi's. Our own nation's Civil War, with its scars still dotting the South, had been stirred up by some of our nearest enemy covens. The countless human soldiers who had died in that war had never known their true purpose: it was to feed us, the true soldiers. Such was the horror of this new life; such was the reason I had to find beauty where I could. Or with whom I could… even if he was part of the horror himself. But it was daylight now; he wasn't part of the horror in the daylight.

I waited for Peter now, sitting alone and mindlessly picking the nameless purple flowers that eked out a living between the rocks. Without anyone nearby to tell me to shut up, I hummed quietly, wishing I knew what I was humming. It was a beautiful tune, orderly and predictable but also tender… warm.

"Beethoven, isn't it?"

I looked up, flinching slightly when I realized how close Peter was. _It's daylight,_ I reminded myself firmly. I smiled up at his glittering face. "I was wondering who the composer was. What's it called?"

He sat and reclined on the rocks a few feet away, squinting at nothing for a moment. "Piano concerto… which one, I've no guess. Sorry."

"No, that helps," I said, keeping my eyes on the flowers in my hand. Peter was a handsome man, tall and lean like Jasper but with lighter hair. And like Jasper he was scarred, though much less so. I liked looking at his arms the most- so strong and lean… I could so easily see him playing that instrument that looks like a huge violin, and you sit in a chair to play it… oh, what was it called? In any case, looking at his arms kept my eyes off his face. "It helps," I repeated, trying to get myself back on track, "to know it's a concerto. Now I can hear other instruments behind the tune. Peter, what's that one called that looks like a big violin, and you sit in a chair to play it?"

He laughed. "Cello."

"Cello!" I said, feeling triumphant. I tasted the word again, closing my eyes in relief. "Cello." Every time I recalled a new memory, or even a new word, it felt like putting a piece back into a puzzle that had been dashed to the floor. Would I ever have enough pieces to tell what the picture was? Who I had been… and whether there was enough of me left to be that again? I began humming again, imagining Peter as the cellist, sitting just to the right of a grand piano. But he was dressed all wrong for the stage, because otherwise I wouldn't get to watch the muscles in his arm as he played. I gathered all the flowers I had picked in a pile, beginning to weave a necklace. Peter watched me work, sometimes humming quietly along with me to fill in an important orchestral component against the melody.

Even if I never found enough pieces to make sense of the puzzle, this would be enough. Peter had been the only constant thing in my life during those horrible first months, and now I had these moments to look forward to. And this new life was getting better. I still trained, and the nights were still frightening, but we hadn't seen action since my awakening. Peter had once confided in me that the army hadn't fought a single battle in over a year- that was why there were no veterans alive other than Jasper and himself, at the moment. That battle had gone very badly, though Maria had managed to keep most of her territory. So maybe… maybe she would be content to merely defend what she had now, and there wouldn't need to be any _real_ fighting anytime soon. Most of my group- everybody changed last October- were nearly as calm as I was now, and the Marches tended to keep to themselves, a little lower down the mountain. Maria's territory was broad, even with the loss last year, and the blood supply was good. It wasn't a good life, or even a real life, but as long as I had those pieces, and these moments, and- it must be admitted- the courage and resilience that came along with being a vampire, I could manage.

"I was trying to remember, earlier today…" Peter began. I smiled down at my flower chain; Peter was in a good mood today, and so was I. Our little conversations always went well when they began like this. Sometimes they didn't go well, especially when I was thirsty… or when Peter had had a difficult time with the Marches. "A book," he continued. "Some misfits… soldiers, I think, after the War of Northern Aggression, fire a gun at the moon, and-"

"_From the Earth to the Moon_, by Jules Verne," I interrupted, feeling a surge of joy as the new words left my lips. Whole paragraphs and images came back to me now, flooding my cold mind with life and searing themselves into my steel memory.

"That was easy," Peter said with a smile. "You read Jules Verne?"

"I _adore_ Jules Verne."

His eyebrows raised nearly up into his tangled hair. I suddenly felt an urge to reach over and comb the dirt and the tangles out. But that wouldn't do… that would never do. Even if Peter wanted it. I had seen how some of my fellow soldiers spent their days, and it looked almost as frightening as the thought of going into battle. I didn't want that. And never with Peter, especially. _Suppose it is a real friendship_, I thought carefully- then it was only a friendship of kindred minds. That was all it could ever be. Because day always turned into night, and my friend turned back into the vampire that he was: Jasper's right hand man. The hands that looked like they were made to serenade the night with a cello turned into rough claws, grabbing my wrists too hard as he taught me moves that the other Octobers were too rabid to comprehend, or roughly pushing me back into the ring when I tried to slink away. The voice that was dreamily reciting broken pieces of Jules Verne to me at this very moment turned into orders and curses yelled into my ear as he demanded that I do better, that I fight smarter. The red eyes, sparkling along with a handsome face, turned dark with impatience and anger during ruthless training sessions, in which I could never quite manage to be as fierce as he demanded.

I finished the flower chain, holding it up for inspection. Peter smiled at it, his hand twitching toward it as though he wanted to touch it… maybe even put it on me. But then his smile faded. "Save it for tomorrow," he said flatly. "New training exercise tonight."

I pursed my lips, sliding the necklace over my head anyway. "They'll all be dead by tomorrow," I replied stubbornly, twisting each flower in succession to make them face forward. My dress might be ragged and a size too large, with far too many bloodstains- _though less than my last one,_ I thought smugly- but that didn't mean I couldn't spruce it up a bit. Even with my hair gone, I was more beautiful as a vampire. Not that it mattered, but it was something. I didn't miss my spectacles one bit.

"Did you ever remember the name of your dog?" Peter asked.

"No. Your mother's name?"

"No."

"Maybe tomorrow."

"Maybe."

I fiddled with my necklace, wondering what new "exercise" Jasper had dreamed up this time. Sometimes I thought he did it just because he was in a bad mood. Which he usually was. But why did Peter have to bring it up now, and ruin our remembering time?

"Remember what I told you," Peter said quietly, as if he had heard my question. "You'll never win based on strength or speed. You'll win by outthinking your opponent, by being creative, by staying calm enough to think at _all_. Don't fight harder; fight _smarter_. That's what will set you apart from the pack."

"I don't want to be _apart_ from the pack, if I'm in battle," I grumbled. "I want as many of them in front of me as possible!"

"Battle," Peter scoffed, as if it were some kind of joke. A muscle clenched in the back of his jaw, and he suddenly stood up, walking away from me without another word. I flopped backwards onto the rocks to stare up at the sky, refusing to try and guess what I had done to offend him this time. I closed my eyes against the sun.

_I was born in Lafayette, Louisiana. My father's name was Daniel…_

_._

_._

_._

I only saw Peter once more that afternoon, from far off. He and Jasper were arguing about something. Whatever it was, Jasper obviously had the last word, because he sauntered off while Peter stayed alone, looking angry and thoughtful. I tried to catch his attention and I know he saw me, but he ignored me and went off toward the Marches.

Night came too soon. This new exercise must have been important, because everyone was here; us Octobers, all the Marches, even Maria. Jasper and Peter were pretty adept at keeping the Marches in order, but when Maria was present everything was _too_ quiet. All of us could remember our final human moments, if nothing else- her teeth at our throats, and the fire that she brought. And so while she rarely involved herself in our training or discipline, we all kept out of her way.

"This exercise will help you in two ways," Jasper called out, waiting for everyone's attention. "It's important to be able to adapt your fighting when you're disabled, and it's equally important to keep fighting when you're in pain."

There were a few uncomfortable murmurs in the crowd, but Peter shouted for silence. "We'll be pairing Octobers against Marches for this exercise," Jasper went on. "You and your opponent will both lose an arm and then the fight will begin immediately." The murmurs began again, more frantically this time. I squeezed my eyes shut, my right hand trailing up the necklace to touch the jagged scar already on my shoulder. It was a bite, from one of my first fights. At least if the arm were _torn_ off this time, there shouldn't be a new scar. The fearful murmurs around me grew louder.

"You would all do well to listen to Jasper," a female voice said, cutting through the clamor. Everyone quieted and obediently turned to face Maria; she hardly ever spoke to us directly. "Some of you seem to forget that we are in the midst of War," she continued harshly. "I found enemy scents on our southern border earlier this week, and once last week. The Guatemalan Coven is growing bolder. If I know them, they will attack soon. So if you hope to survive that battle, you'd better dedicate every minute of your nights to training and practice. Is there anyone here who thinks they don't need to practice anymore? Anyone who thinks they're ready?"

It was so silent now that we could hear the wind howling through the canyon ten miles away. One of the Octobers – his name was Manuel- had answered that question once. Maria had laughed and set him against Jasper in one-on-one combat. It was the last thing he had ever done.

I tried to watch the pairs that went before me, tried to study how everyone was compensating for their lost arm, but it was too much. I was so nervous I was gasping for breath like a human, and I knew that wouldn't help me. _Fight smarter_, I scolded myself.

When my turn came, I forced my feet to carry me out into the ring. It was only a "ring" in the sense that the crowd of onlookers was circled around a large open space, half of them looking frightened or excited, and the other half grimacing as they held whichever shoulder was busy fusing with the arm that had just been replaced.

My opponent was a woman, at least; that was good. They fought dirty and tended to bite more, but not as deep. At least I usually ended up in one piece. Peter walked up to stand beside her, but Jasper jerked his head toward me. Peter switched places, his face expressionless as he gripped the back of my right shoulder with his left hand, and my wrist with his right. I went as slack as I could, letting him draw my arm back; it would probably hurt less than way. He waited for Jasper's command; the crowd grew louder as they began shouting their encouragement and their taunts. Jasper was having some trouble with my opponent; she was fighting back as he tried to get a hold of her arm.

"Hold still or I'll leave it off all night," he said harshly. She screamed once more in his face, but let him slip behind her, mirroring Peter's position.

"Fight smarter," Peter murmured behind my ear. I nodded, gritting my teeth.

"Now," Jasper said calmly. I felt Peter's thumb dig deep into back of my shoulder as his other hand pulled my arm back sharply. There was a pair of cracks like thunder, and pain shot through my right side, as well as through the arm that Peter was tossing aside now. The other woman was screaming again, snapping at Jasper as she tried to grab her arm back. He tossed it aside and shoved her toward me. I was silent, but it really was hard to think when your arm had just been torn off- and when you could see and feel the arm twenty feet away, flapping on the ground and trying to claw its way back to you. Peter kicked it further away, shouting for me to focus.

I had barely turned back when she hit me like a freight train. She wasn't much bigger than me, but much stronger, being so young. I spun as she grabbed at me, deflecting the main force of her attack and making her roll off me toward her good side. She stumbled in her disorientation, but didn't fall. I kicked her backside as hard as I could, earning a round of laughter and cheers from the Octobers. But the Marches gave an answering cheer when she bounced back like a flash, her nails digging into my face and her other knee kicking me in the stomach. I bared my teeth and twisted my face down to bite her hand, so she let me go. We circled each other again, panting. I felt my face begin to heal. My shoulder and arm were throbbing- not pain anymore, exactly, just _aching_ to be reunited.

She lunged again, this time so fast she got me head on and squeezed the air out of me. I stumbled backwards, scrambling with my one arm to get at her throat, or at least her eyes. Not willing to let go or shift her hold, she craned her head back and snapped at my fingers, which I jerked back.

"Go on the offensive!" Peter shouted.

How was I supposed to go on the offensive with her hanging around my stomach like a dead weight?! I couldn't even breathe to snarl at her properly. I threw both of us to the ground, hoping to even the odds. I landed on top of her and bit down on her ear. She finally let go, rolling away and leaping to her feet to jump at me while I was still down- she was so _fast_!

_Fight smarter._

Instead of trying to get up in time to fend off her attack, I rolled farther to the edge of the ring. Some March's foot kicked at my face, but I wasn't trying to get away. I reached out and grabbed my opponent's detached arm, swinging it like a club as she jumped. It hit her right in the mouth, knocking her off course. On a whim, I threw the arm at her. She caught it and cried out in relief, automatically turning the arm upright to reattach it herself. Completely oblivious to me- I couldn't believe it had worked! I jumped her from behind, getting my teeth on her neck and looking to Jasper for approval.

"Excellent!" Peter shouted. "What did I tell you, Jasper?!"

But instead of giving the signal to stop, Jasper swept his finger in a circle, watching me carefully. He wanted me to keep going. My stomach twisted in revulsion, but I bit down deep into the back of her neck, twisting my head to try and dislodge hers. Her elbow slammed back hard, sending me flying. She caught me as I fell, getting her teeth onto my good shoulder.

"Enough," Jasper called before she could bite down. "Next pair." He turned to Peter, shaking his head slightly. As he turned back to the crowd to speak about what my opponent and I had done right and wrong, Peter stared at me, his eyes dark. He snatched up my arm and brought it over.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled as he handed it to me. I brushed the dirt off and held it in place, sighing in relief as the familiar tingle of healing began.

"You were doing so well," he said in a low voice. "Brain over brawn. What happened?"

I shrugged with my good shoulder. "I'm not a soldier, Peter. I don't like tearing people apart."

"I can see that," he said coldly.

He glared down at me while I healed, his eyes drifting between the wound and the next fight which had already begun. I finally let go of my shoulder, wiggling my fingers experimentally. I was thirsty. "I want blood," I said in a trembling voice.

Peter's glare softened for just a moment, but then it was gone. "Not tonight," he mumbled, looking back toward the fight.

My throat blazed hotter with need, and with jealousy. "_You'll_ feed tonight," I said accusingly. He fed nearly as often as Jasper did; the mark of Maria's favor.

"You want blood?" Peter hissed. "Get back in that ring and earn it." He stormed off, shoving aside a March who was in his way. The newborn growled at him in protest, but he snapped at her face with such ferocity that she scampered back to her fellows.

I clenched my teeth hard, refusing to cry. My hand crept up to touch the necklace, but it had been lost during the fight.

.

.

.

Peter didn't come to talk to me for the rest of the week. I saw him arguing with Jasper again once, with the same result as before. A couple of times I saw him staring at me, looking as though he wanted to say something. But I had bigger things to worry about than my non-friendship with Peter.

A battle was coming. Maria had decided to make a preemptive strike on the Guatemala coven, and this morning she had announced that tonight would be the night. To make matters worse, we weren't even taking the Marches with us; they would stay behind with Maria. This mission required intelligence and quiet, she said; they weren't ready for something like that. I didn't understand it; even if they gave us away, wasn't it better to have twenty-two instead of eleven? I finally went to Peter, quietly suggesting that strategy be reconsidered. He just stared at me, looking angry again, until I apologized and slunk away.

I could feel electricity in the air as we were silently marched down the mountain. _It seems fitting_, I thought miserably. I wondered idly if a lightning strike could kill a vampire. Maybe if I was lucky, I would burn that way, and not the way I feared. Maybe I wouldn't even have to fight.

"Stop here," Jasper ordered, turning to face all of us. "We're about to pass near a human village. We're going to feed before going on." We all buzzed with excitement, and I felt a smile spread on my face despite my anxiety. They had been making us Octobers wait for _days_ at a time now. I lifted my nose, eagerly sniffing for human scent, but I didn't smell anything.

"You're all to wait here while Peter and I go on ahead," Jasper went on in a dull voice. "Maria has decided that you all deserve a special reward for all your hard work these past weeks, and it'll make you even stronger for the battle tonight." He paused for effect, his eyes sweeping over us. I felt my anticipation growing. "Every single one of you will get to feed alone tonight."

We all started cheering at once, even me. Feeding alone! It was always such a relief. Feeding just wasn't the same in a group; you had to guzzle your blood because someone might finish before you and try to steal your kill. I had only fed alone twice before now. I instantly forgot the battle, grinning as I sniffed the air more eagerly. But I supposed it made sense that I couldn't smell anything; they had to go and fetch it for us.

Jasper came back a few minutes later, calling one of the larger males to come and feed first. I waited, my throat burning more every time Jasper returned and picked someone besides me. It seemed inefficient; why didn't they just spread us out so several of us could feed at once? I wanted my blood _now_. But I wasn't about to open my mouth after last time.

"Why aren't the others coming back?" one of the shorter males, Wyatt, asked the next time Jasper returned.

"Some of you will have unique roles in the battle tonight," he explained over his shoulder. "Peter and I are doing some one-on-one training with those that have already fed." Wyatt grumbled something in response, but fell quiet when Jasper shot him a threatening look. I realized that Jasper looked odd now, almost… shaken. It seemed that even the fiercest, most experienced warrior got afraid on the eve of battle; it didn't exactly make me feel better.

Once Jasper was out of sight Wyatt turned to the others, boasting that he would be picked for one of the special roles. Everyone else's excitement began to grow; I just felt my throat tightening around my thirst. I hadn't a hope of being picked for a special assignment, which meant that I was probably just going to be torn apart in the front lines before the battle even got going. Would I even get to see Peter again? I didn't mind the idea of dying, as long as it was quick; this life wasn't something to hold onto. But suddenly, the thought of never seeing Peter again made me hurt inside. I had never even told him goodbye. Maybe he would let me stay near him in the fight.

As our group grew smaller and the sky began to blink with lightning, I grew even more nervous. What if the Guatemalans had gotten the same idea as Maria because of the weather, and were on their way right now? Jasper had told us that evening thunderstorms were the best time for battles; all the crashing sounds were drowned out by the thunder so that if a human were nearby, they wouldn't realize what was going on. That was the only universal law governing the Wars; we could never let the humans know we existed. But what was the point of being careful for the humans if we were going to split up like this? You couldn't follow the law if you were dead.

Jasper came back again, his dark eyes looking over the three of us that were left.

"You're up, Charlotte."

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**HAHA CLIFFHANGER! Oh, come on, you guys know what happens next :) **


	21. 1936: From the Earth to the Moon

**Here is the conclusion of Charlotte and Peter's story. I've changed the name of the first installment, because I like the Jules Verne theme and this way the titles reflect the progression of the way her life is changing here. And we'll see these two again; I've lost count of how many readers requested an outtake of Peter and Charlotte meeting the Cullens. So that'll definitely be coming eventually. This has been an interesting challenge, since these two are "good guys" and yet so different from the Cullens.**

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I hurried to Jasper's side, eager to get my blood. He led me silently through a winding path of scraggly trees and down into a valley. I felt calmer every minute; even my thirst cooled slightly. I needed to trust Peter and Jasper; they'd never separate us all like this if there was an imminent threat. And maybe the battle wouldn't be so bad… maybe they'd have even less than eleven.

Finally we stepped out of the trees into a clearing. My calm vanished suddenly; there was a huge fire that smelled strange, and I didn't see any humans ready for me. But then I saw Peter, standing with his back to the fire. I relaxed again and smiled, walking toward him and the fire.

But Peter didn't seem relaxed at all. As I approached him, his breathing grew faster and faster, his wide eyes darting between me and Jasper.

"Charlotte, _RUN!_" he bellowed suddenly.

I didn't even think to question him. I bolted, streaking past him and the fire. Less than a second later I heard pounding footsteps behind me. It was Peter, and he looked _terrified _now. He grabbed my upper arm, the same one he had torn off last week in training. "Faster!" he hissed, half shoving and half dragging me along. He looked back once, but there was no sign of pursuit_. I was right_, I realized with a chill. The Guatemalans had seen the thunderstorm and decided to make their move. Why on earth were we running _away_ from the rest of our army?! Were we deserting during a battle? This was insane! If Maria didn't come and kill us for treason, we'd be captured by the enemy and killed anyway.

"What-"

"Shut up and _run_!" he snarled, pulling me along so roughly that my feet barely skimmed the ground. He seemed to be running in slow motion, keeping pace with me. If we were in that much danger, why didn't he just leave me behind? He veered to the north then, directly into the thunderstorm, but at least this would put some distance between us and Guatemala Coven territory. We ran through the rain, threaded through the mountains, and ghosted across grass-carpeted plains. We crossed vampire scent once and changed direction. Peter pushed me even harder after that. Every time we came to a creek he pulled me into the water, splashing along some of its length before jumping out onto dry land again.

Peter stopped on a dime when the sun rose. We were at the edge of a farm, still under the small canopy of trees that lined the easternmost field. It was colder. "We'll stop here for the day," he said absently. He finally let go of my arm and began pacing anxiously, scanning the horizon and muttering nasty words to himself. I couldn't take it for more than a few seconds; I was dying of thirst and out of patience.

"Do you mind explaining what's going on? If we just deserted, can we at least get some blood so-"

Peter laughed once, a strange high-pitched sound. "Deserted? I just signed both our death warrants!" He began pacing again.

I glanced back the way we had come. It was such a relief to see a different kind of terrain! I had known nothing but the barren rocks of some unnamed mountain since… it seemed like forever. There was so much green here. And it was so blissfully _quiet_. No shouting, no screaming, no snarling or fighting… just silence, with the distant chorus of birdsong. The gentle shush of a breeze. My head turned to a new sound I had never noticed as a human: the scratchy rubbing-together of thousands of individual leaves high in the trees above as the breeze stirred them. Each species of tree seemed to have its own unique whispered symphony. I closed my eyes, inhaling new scents that were sweet and warm. But it was all an illusion. Wherever we were, it was enemy territory.

"Let's go back," I pleaded, unable to believe I was saying the words. But Peter obviously regretted this already. Better to face the battle; at least one of us would survive. "You can talk to Jasper. Tell him we got nervous. Tell him it was my fault."

Peter stopped pacing and suddenly blinked over to stand right in front of me. I flinched, hissing and crouching away just as quickly in my panic. _Daylight_, I reminded myself frantically, but I had never been alone with anyone like this since my change. Nothing felt safe anymore, not even Peter. _Especially_ not Peter.

He held up his hands in a peaceful gesture, walking toward me another step. He looked afraid as well. "Charlotte, please… let me explain. We can't go back. Jasper was going to kill you."

"What?!" I stopped backing away, frozen in panic. "Why would he kill me? I didn't do anything wrong! I know I'm not the best soldier, but the battle would-"

Peter shook his head. "I…" The fear in his eyes shifted suddenly, to something darker. He watched me for another moment, then lifted one hand toward me hesitantly. He dropped it again. He was scaring me.

"What?!"

"Last night… there was no battle. That was just a way for us to… I mean… It's standard procedure to…" He stared at me, his eyes straining to tell me something. He drew a deeper breath. "You're a year old," he said flatly.

"So?"

"All the Octobers are a year old. You aren't newborns anymore. You've all lost your newborn strength, your speed. It's Jasper's job…" He swallowed. "…and mine, to clean up. To dispose of the newborns when they get too old."

I blinked, standing up out of my crouch. Surely he hadn't… no. "The others? The ones that Jasper called out before me?"

"Dead."

I shook my head, taking another step backward as the pieces began to come together. "The fire." He nodded. "What about the Marches?"

"Jasper will tell them you were all killed in the battle. They'll be kept alive until their year mark. By that time a new batch will be up and running."

"A new _batch_?!" I snarled, taking another step backward. "Is that all we are?!"

His eyes softened, just a bit. "It's all any of us are. This is how it's done. Everywhere."

I shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself tightly. It felt like something was breaking inside of me, or being torn away. _This_ was what I had been made for? To be a worthless soldier who wouldn't even see battle, only to be thrown away once I became even more worthless? And Peter… The pain grew, centering in my chest like a dark hole that was pulling me into it. Peter had _known_, this whole time- he was _part_ of it…

And then it hit me like a slap in the face: he was going to kill me himself. That was why he had been standing by the fire. He and Jasper had killed the others, and when I came out…

"Why?"

"Why what?"

I didn't even know why I was asking; it didn't matter. I needed to run, I needed to get as far away from him as possible. But I had to know first. "Why did you tell me to run?"

Peter shook his head, looking miserable as he began pacing again. "I just couldn't… I couldn't do it. I couldn't let him do it."

"Why not?" I demanded. "I was never more than part of the October batch, right? Why didn't you just do it? It was what you were going to do all along! Why did you come with me, anyway? Why didn't you just-"

"Because I _love_ you, Charlotte!" he moaned, spinning back to face me.

Everything disappeared. The sounds, the scents, the air, the pain in my chest… "What?" I whispered.

"I love you," he whispered back, his eyes desperate and pleading now. He mouthed the words a third time. He took a step closer, holding his hand up toward me. But the pain rushed back, ten times more terrible than before. I scrambled backwards away from him. _Daylight, daylight daylight-_

"No, no _no_ don't… don't be afraid of me!" He closed the distance between us in a flash, laying his hands on my shoulders. His dark eyes were only inches away. "Please don't! Charlotte, _please_!"

I twisted against his hands, panicking as they gripped me harder- just like when he had torn my arm off. "Let me _go_!" I shrieked. I lashed out instinctively, hitting and kicking and biting until I was battling thin air. Peter was suddenly a hundred feet away, holding his hands up in surrender and looking horrified. There was a fresh bite mark on his left cheek.

"Don't you _ever_ touch me again!" I shouted, my voice trembling. "You're a liar and a murderer!" I turned to go. The pain in my chest grew as I looked away from him, but I had no choice. He was _nothing_ like I had thought! All those silly daydreams about him being my friend, and the stupid cello, and laughing over our memories… it had meant nothing. He had known, all along. He had been planning it _the whole time_. Every smile, every laugh, every secret had meant nothing. I gripped my sides harder, trying to crush the pain as it grew. _I_ had meant nothing. His words now meant nothing.

"I understand," he said faintly. He looked like he was going to be sick. Could we do that? "I understand," he repeated. "But we need to stick together, at least for now. It's too dangerous for you to be alone out here."

"_You're_ the only dangerous thing out here," I hissed. I didn't turn back to him, but my feet had stopped working. Why couldn't I leave?

"Not to you," he protested. "I could never hurt you. _Never_." I shook my head, looking angrily away. "I know I was hard on you in training," he added quickly. "But it was all to save you. I thought I could prove to Jasper… to Maria, that you were worth keeping. That you could learn to fight smarter, even without your newborn strength. I asked him more than once, but he said Maria didn't want to keep anyone. I _tried_, Charlotte, but this was the only way to save you in the end. Please, believe me… I never wanted to hurt you."

I hugged myself so hard I couldn't breathe, trying to hide the sobs that I refused to show. My right hand crept up to my shoulder, wanting to tangle in my hair the way it was always had when I was upset- but the hair was gone, of course. He had probably hacked it off himself while I burned. "Just go," I whimpered. "Please, just go away."

"I can't."

"I don't want you, Peter." It was lie, it was such a lie. Every word made the pain worse.

"I _can't_, Charlotte. We're in enemy territory now. You're a miserable soldier, and you know it."

A laugh somehow broke out of the pain in my chest. Lies or not, he was right- I'd never make it on my own. Though how he would save us when we ran smack into the next army, I didn't know. I slowly turned to face him again, feeling suspicious. Why hadn't we been stopped and slaughtered yet? Why hadn't we crossed the scent of half a dozen patrols by now? What were the lies here, and what was the truth? "I don't smell anyone."

He looked around. "We're in Oklahoma… I think. I don't know who's up here, although I've heard stories…" He clenched his teeth, looking warily toward the east. "Anyway, it should be safer if we stick to places like this- farms, plains and such. The fighting is always the worst near the cities." He glanced back at me. "I want to go further north, up where the climate is worse for humans. There should be less fighting going on up there. And then… and then, if it looks safe, I'll leave you alone if you want me to. Or… at least I'll give you some space."

Peter's plan sounded like it made sense, and… maybe I just needed some time, to become brave enough to strike out on my own. An alliance, for now. The pain in my chest eased. I felt myself nodding. "All right. But just until then."

"_If_ it looks safe," he repeated sharply. I nodded again, my hand creeping to my throat now.

"I'm thirsty."

"So am I," he admitted. "Come on." He turned toward the farmhouse and began moving silently through the field of hay.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, following him in.

"What's it look like? We're thirsty, remember?"

"Well… aren't you going to bring it back to me?"

He smiled sadly, turning halfway back but avoiding my eyes. "I thought you didn't want to be treated like a soldier anymore."

I followed him in silence, feeling uneasy. I had never hunted for myself before. It didn't seem right to bother these people in their home, to cut off their lives right as they were living them… but I supposed that was what Peter and Jasper and Maria had always done, in order to bring all of us our blood. We found the farmer just beginning his morning chores. Peter finally looked back at me, gesturing toward the man as he continued on toward the house. I snuck up behind the farmer inside the barn, moaning in relief as I sank my teeth into his throat_. So good_… He screamed and fought me at first, but this was one battle I always won.

When I had finished, I felt better. The pain in my chest was gone now- had that been the thirst? I didn't think so. Because as soon as I thought about sneaking off while Peter was in the house, it hurt again. The thought of not being near him...

_Stop it,_ I ordered myself. _He's a liar and a murderer._

The farmer's dead face was staring up at me from the floor of the barn. _You're a murderer too,_ it seemed to say. I frowned back down at it, reaching out with my foot and flipping the body over onto its face. Of course I was a murderer, but that was different. I _needed_ blood. I glanced around the barn, my eyes resting on an axe hanging by the door- for the chicken's necks, no doubt. _And so are you_, I thought peevishly down at the farmer's back.

Aren't we all.

I slid down the wall of the barn and drew my knees up to my chin, curling myself up into a miserable ball and hating the world I lived in now. And yet I found myself also full of relief at the armies that made it too dangerous for Peter to leave me alone.

.

.

.

I startled when Peter strode into the barn, carrying a dead woman- the farmer's wife, no doubt- slung over his shoulder. I stood up.

"When did you feed? I didn't hear any screaming."

He shrugged, making the dead woman flop up and down. "I always kill them first."

I wrinkled my nose. "Why?"

He thought for a moment. "I don't know why. I guess because that's how Jasper does it." He scanned the interior of the barn, his eyes resting on a spot just behind me. "Hand me that shovel?"

I tossed it to him. He unceremoniously dumped the woman down on top of the farmer and walked out. A couple seconds later I heard the shovel biting into the ground. I came out and watched him work for a moment. "I'm surprised," I finally said.

"At what?"

"I would have thought Jasper was the type to… you know, play with his food." I made a face, remembering some of the games my fellow Octobers liked to play at mealtime. At least Peter had never done that, at least not that I had seen.

Peter stopped digging and frowned up at me from the ditch he had dug himself into . "He's not like you think he is."

I frowned back. "Oh, really? He's not the type to murder his own soldiers in cold blood, bringing them out one at a time like lambs to a slaughter?"

Peter swallowed, but kept looking up at me. "He didn't have a choice. He didn't ask for this life." His eyes were pleading. I stared down at him, shaking my head slightly before walking away. I barely heard his whisper behind me: "I'm sorry." I paused, wondering what I was supposed to say to that. So I said nothing. I gritted my teeth and walked back to the farmhouse. I found some withered flowers and spent the rest of the morning making myself a new necklace, so my fingers would have something to tug on while I tried not to fall in love.

.

.

.

We only travelled by night. Peter always stayed far ahead: to scout for the scent of other vampires, but it also made it easier not to talk that way. We hid during the day, in thickets or fields of corn, or in barns like the one we had found that first night. I could almost pretend that we were the only vampires around, that there was no danger, that we didn't have to keep running. But we knew we were on borrowed time. It was a miracle we hadn't run into fresh vampire scent again since that first night. But we knew that even here, in the relatively empty Midwest, there were battles and patrols and deadly rivalries, just like back in Mexico. The territories must be bigger up here- that made sense with the sparser human population- and that must be why we were still alive. The armies probably did less patrolling; a higher risk of poaching, surely, but there would be more danger if their soldiers were spread out too thin. Peter wondered if the territories here might be more flexible, boundaries shifting as the covens and their armies made a slow, endlessly cycling tour around their traditional lands.

I had argued with Peter that second night, wanting to stay here and eke a living around the farms and ranches that dotted the prairie. We had been fine so far, I pointed out, and it shouldn't be too difficult to stay ahead of the patrols once we learned what their patterns were. But he was adamant that our best chance at survival was to get as far north as possible, where humanity was so sparse that the bloodfields would be vast and thin and hardly worth defending.

It seemed so unfair. I had never been so free, in a way, to travel the vast rainbow of landscapes that America had to offer. Things I had only read about and dreamed about were out here. And now that I was barred from human society, the nature itself drew me as it never had before. I wanted to stop for days at a time, staring at natural wonders: at stars, unusual rock formations, even at animals I had never seen before. I had this human daydream, one in which my brilliant, promising husband and I struck out West and built a life in this glorious, open quiet. A little farmhouse, a freshly painted barn, a garden, children…

But instead, we had this: an unmapped labyrinth of danger, where one fateful turn could be our last. Fields overripe with crops that could not sustain us, and herds of livestock that we had no use for. The land was just as beautiful to our eyes- more so, perhaps- but it was forbidden. If Peter's plan saved us in the end, all I had to look forward to was an eternity of isolation in a kingdom of ice and snow, stalking our prey when I could find them, their blood already half-frozen in their veins. Would that life be enough? It was far more than I had had a week ago. And if we made it there… I glanced over at Peter again, trying to twist my other daydream into some vampire daydream in which we stayed together up there. But how could I trust him? How could I accept his apology, his protest that he had never asked for this life either, when he had fed me so many lies? And what about his profession of love? How could I trust _that_?

How could I trust myself, when I knew I loved him too?

.

.

.

Peter's thirst surprised me. I had thought I was the bloodthirsty newborn, but by our fourth night on the run his eyes were already black and desperate. I happily followed him toward the campground we found ourselves near. We circled around to the back, hiding ourselves in the woods behind the camper furthest from the road. It was nearly dawn.

"There are too many humans around for us to make any noise," Peter cautioned me.

"I can be quiet."

"I know _you_ can, but your prey can't make any noise either. You'll need to kill it first, the way I did with the woman the other day." I reluctantly agreed, silently following him to the door of the camper. He tried the handle, but it was locked. Glancing once around the campground, he rapped gently on the door. An elderly man's face appeared at a window, disappearing again. My thirst ignited and a growl rumbled in my throat as I began to sink down into an attack crouch. Peter grabbed my arm.

"The others," he hissed, his eyes darting toward the other campers. "Wait." His hand was trembling on my arm, though, and so was his voice as the door opened and he asked the man if we could have a drink of water, as we had gotten lost and been out in the woods all night. The man opened the door wider for us to enter, and Peter barely made it inside before lunging at him. I snarled and almost attacked Peter to fight him for his prey, but thankfully there was a woman inside the tiny kitchen as well. I grabbed her, copying Peter's motions as he covered the man's mouth with one hand and broke his neck with the other. We fed together in the tiny space, almost touching as we fed. I trembled and watched Peter the whole time I was drinking, afraid he would attack me if he finished first.

He didn't. He was done first, but he moved away until I was finished. "Better?" he asked when I was done. I nodded, raising my hand to wipe the blood off my face. I was surprised at how clean I was; since the woman's heart hadn't been beating while I fed, the whole thing had been far less messy. And I was surprised at how the blood was no less satisfying. I looked down at her now, laying crumpled at my feet. Her neck was clean, too. The way her head was tipped forward over the wound, she almost looked like she was asleep. I found myself feeling glad, for her sake, that I had make it quick. It made me feel… well, nothing like human, but better. Less of a nightmare. It felt like clicking one more piece of the puzzle back into place… or maybe forcing a piece into a space that was _almost_ the right shape. I'd never find all the pieces- I knew that- but it was something.

"Much better," I admitted. "I want to feed like this from now on."

Peter suddenly looked hopeful. "Together?"

_Yes! Together. _"No, killing them first."

His shoulders drooped slightly. "Oh."

It suddenly felt very cramped inside the tiny kitchen. I glanced around the miniature human habitat, feeling sad and glad all at once to be in something like this again. I went over to the sink and rinsed the blood off my hands and face. If it weren't for the fact that I was stepping over a corpse to do so, it might have felt normal. I stood back and let Peter have a turn at the sink. He also dipped his head down under the faucet, running his fingers through his hair. Then he turned his face, letting the water beat down on his left cheek for a moment. He was trying to clean the venom out of the bite mark I had given him.

"Does it still hurt?" I mumbled as he stood back up. He dabbed at the wound with the red dishtowel, wincing. Now that he had gotten more of the venom out, I could see that the wound had deepened over the past two days. And there was still venom in it- I could see the silvery reflection coming from deep inside the bite marks. It was going to keep getting worse. My own cheek burned. And then my heart burned, that cold part of me that I had thought dead, that _should_ be dead, when I realized there was only one way to heal it for him.

"It's fine." He tossed the towel back onto the sink, looking around the kitchen for something. I moved out of his way, stepping backwards over the body of his prey and finding myself in the living room already, such as it was. I watched curiously as he opened the cabinet under the miniature stove and pulled out a small tank of kerosene. He began sprinkling the kerosene over our prey, and I backed up so he could sprinkle the rest on the little couch. I covered my nose; it smelled horrible.

Peter rummaged through more of the cabinets, finally finding a matchbook. "Anybody walking around out there?" he asked me, nodding toward the window facing the campground. I peeked out and shook my head. He lit a match and dropped it onto the dishcloth that was still glistening with my venom. It ignited instantly. I jerked instinctually away from the flame, remembering the last time I had seen Peter and fire together.

By the time we heard the first human shout, we were nearly half a mile away. We ran in silence another minute or two. "Stop," I called up ahead.

Peter stopped and turned to face me. He was glittering in the first rays of dawn. "What?"

I took a deep breath, willing myself to close the distance between us. "Hold still, all right? I've never done this before." He tilted his head in confusion. I traced a line on my cheek, indicating the wound on his.

"I said I'm fine," he insisted, but stayed put. I tensed, drawing so close that I was looking nearly straight up into his crimson eyes. It was _almost_ daylight…

"Can't reach," I squeaked, hating how high my voice came out. He inclined his head down, but that made me more nervous. "Just…" I hissed, backing away and waving my hand uselessly, "just sit down."

I knelt down beside him, so close that his scent was a strawberries-and-cream haze around me. Cautiously, I leaned in until my lips were barely touching his cheek. My instincts vibrated again, but I needed to do this. _He's not going to hurt me. Daylight. _I gently pulled out the venom, feeling the pain in my chest again as he tensed. I turned my head and spat the venom away, moving in again for a second try. But instead I watched in fascination as the torn tissues began to knit themselves together, the inside layers first and then the skin on the outside. It took less than two minutes to heal, leaving behind a new scar to match the others. Peter sighed in relief.

"I'm sorry about that," I said quietly, still watching the scar. _Now stand up, Charlotte._ Peter's eyes were still closed. Maybe if I tried again, the scar would heal even more… I inched my face closer to his again, but I found my own eyes closing. Some strange part of me didn't want the scar to go away.

"Charlotte," he whispered, inclining his head imperceptibly lower. His mouth brushed my shoulder, and I was suddenly on my feet, standing several feet away.

"Don't," I pleaded. To him, or to myself?

He nodded, watching me as he also stood. His hand crept up to touch the scar I had given him. I have no memory of how long we stood there staring, or what I was thinking, or when I realized that his eyes weren't as bright a crimson anymore; I only know that the sun began to set a moment later. The last purple light of dusk brushed away from Peter's face, stealing away its glistening magic. I looked away, and out of the corner of my eye I saw his hand come down from his face.

We moved on again. And this time, we ran together.

.

.

.

"I was trying to remember, yesterday morning…" Peter began, the next night as we ran under the stars.

I turned to face him mid-stride, my bitter laugh coming out before I could stop it. "What are you doing?"

"Remembering," he said, sounding hurt. "Is that… all right?"

I clenched my teeth, focusing on my run. I could feel him watching me and waiting for an answer, but what was I supposed to say? Yes, let's go back to the way it was before, where you pretended to be my friend but you were lying to me the whole time? To a time when you were the only thing standing between me and despair, as you silently counted down the days I had left? To before you declared your love, ten seconds after you admitted you had just been about to kill me? To the days where my heart was safe, because it was never going to be more than what we already had?

But my treacherous heart warmed, to have this again. "It's all right," I finally admitted. "It's just… can't we wait until daylight?"

"What for?"

"We always did our remembering in the daylight," I said stubbornly.

Peter stopped on a dime, grabbing my arm to halt me as well. I tensed, but didn't pull away.

"I was a liar and a murderer," he said fiercely. "And you were nothing but a throwaway soldier."

The words stabbed and slashed through me with their truth. My eyes squeezed closed against the attack, but Peter shook me. "That was the way it was. Charlotte, look at me, please! Can't you see that? That's what _was_. That's not what _is_. I know this was stupid, that we might not have much time left, but even if we don't…" I finally looked up into his eyes, and they brightened with hope. "Even if all we have is one more day, can't we spend it in a new way? Can't we leave all that behind? Can't you give this a chance? Can't you give _me_ a chance?"

His eyes! There seemed to be the whole world inside his eyes. And what he said was so beautiful, and of _course_ I wanted it… but then his hands tightened on my shoulders and it all came rushing back. His hand, gripping my shoulder as his other hand wrenched my arm away. His foot, kicking that arm away like a worthless animal. His eyes, dark with disappointment and anger when I failed in training. His teeth, gleaming with venom as he shouted at me to do better. To fight smarter.

To survive.

I closed my eyes, zipping through my perfect memory to observe all the times he was harsh with me before, back with Maria. Every time, it was as he said now- trying to save me. Trying to make me worthy of being kept like him and Jasper. Trying to teach me to survive. Then I thought of all the times he had been angry with me- every time it was because I _wasn't_ living up to what he was trying to do.

When I separated those memories into a neat pile, deciding that yes, he had done all that in order to save me, I looked at what I had left. Peter had still been unhappy- that was always obvious. He had been no less a slave than I was, nearly all of his time devoted to caring for and training us. There was always the possibility of battle, and it had always been obvious, even to me, that his position was far lower, far less secure than Jasper's. And I hadn't known the _other_ grim duty that he had been dreading that whole time. But I began to remember more of his smiles now, now that I had the darker memories pulled aside. His pride in me on those occasions I actually did well in training. How impressed he had been, back when I was new and yet calmer than the other Octobers. I remembered the extra time he had spent with me in training, since I was actually capable of focusing for hours at a time. I remembered how those training times alone had led to conversations, which led to our remembering times. Once the Marches had started trickling in, he hadn't had much time for extra training, but the remembering times continued.

That was when he had begun to get angry, I realized. When he saw that October was approaching fast, and when he realized that I wasn't going to make the cut. That unless he could make a miracle occur, there wouldn't even _be_ a cut to make. I thought back to that last fight, the one where we lost our arms. I remembered Peter eagerly drawing Jasper's attention to my creativity. But Jasper had made me continue the fight. Now I understood why he had looked at Peter and shaken his head. _No, not good enough._ I felt more pieces finally coming together.

When had Peter's puzzle become mine?

"That was when you loved me," I said thoughtfully. "When you realized I wasn't good enough for them to keep me."

Peter blinked, probably trying to guess my train of thought. "Actually," he said with a hint of a smile, "I didn't realize I loved you until last week. I knew I was trying to save you, but I didn't understand why- I thought it was just because we were friends, that we enjoyed talking together. I was angry because I knew I was going to have to let you go... let _that_ go. But when the time came…" His grip on my shoulders became softer. "I knew I couldn't do it. Believe me, I would have made a better plan than running off in full view of Jasper! Why he let us go, I don't understand…" he shook his head, looking thoughtfully down at nothing.

"I can try," I whispered.

"Try what?"

I drew a deep breath, making myself relax even though he was still gripping my shoulders. "Try to leave all that behind. Try to make something new."

He smiled and nodded, though his eyes were sad. He let his hands slide down off my shoulders and took a step backwards away from me. "That's all I ask."

"But it's not all you want?"

"It's all I need." The pain in his eyes, before he turned to hide them from me, bespoke his lie. I took another deep breath and told myself to stop being such a coward. I reached, trembling, and put my hand in his.

"And… time is all I need," I said quietly. "Now, what was it you were trying to remember yesterday?"

His eyes brightened to match his smile now. We talked the rest of the night, and we did no running. The dawn might herald our last day on this earth, but this time we spent the night walking nowhere in particular, hand in hand.

.

.

.

I had less time than I thought. Dawn didn't bring death, but it was ominous enough. The sky was red in the west, not the east. The redness grew and swirled and darkened until the whole western horizon was a deadly black. The sun was up now, but it was quickly losing the battle. We stopped running and watched in wary confusion as the blackness approached. The wind rapidly picked up, and by the time the blackness was almost on top of us it was a gale, whistling sharply as it scraped across our hard skin. And then, almost at the last moment, I finally found some hazy memories of newspaper articles and realized our danger: we were smack in the middle of the Dust Bowl.

"It's a dust storm!" I shouted over the wind. Peter was pulling me along with the wind, and we broke into a run, away from the gray pillar that was now visible in the center of the black wall behind us. The storm began a few seconds later, a miserable driving rain of dirt and dust and filth. I felt the peculiar urge to cough, for the first time since my awakening. It was _horrible_. I could feel every individual particle as it swept into my lungs- or whatever was left of my lungs- and coated my eyes and my tongue and found its way inside my nose and my ears. I stopped breathing, bringing my free hand up to cover my nose.

"We've got to get out of this!" Peter shouted, and though he was close enough to still be holding my hand, his words were nearly lost in the rushing roar of the storm. We looked around wildly for shelter, but we could hardly see each other, much less a house or cave on the horizon. Peter finally let go of my hand and attacked the ground underneath our feet, shouting for me to help. We dug furiously, all the while keeping our shoulders and faces hunched together to block as much of the dust as we could.

Vampire speed isn't much use when your enemy is just as fast as you, but it's good for some things. Within a few seconds we had a hole deep enough to crawl into, and we frantically pulled the loose earth back over ourselves. We dug even deeper once we had some minor layer of cover, and we were soon in total blackness as the storm raged on overheard.

But a new storm was swirling inside me now. I wasn't ready for this, for Peter's body to be mashed up against mine, our arms and legs tangled in a tight wad inside the hole we had dug- inside the total night that we had created under a sky that was probably total night to human eyes. I started shaking, tormented by memories of my first week after awakening: the wild terror of what I had become, the violence when several of us would tangle together to fight, the pain of the bites and rough dismemberments, the feeling that this night of horror would never end.

But now, just as then, Peter was there. He held me tight, and when I whispered to ask, tighter. And there, in a grave of our own making, I found my refuge in Peter's arms and learned to feel safer than I had ever felt before.

.

.

.

We had become so accustomed to our false freedom, in those few short weeks, that it was a shock when we finally ran into fresh vampire scent. We instantly retreated, but panicked as we soon scented a second vampire, even closer.

"Let me do the talking," Peter whispered as he pulled me halfway behind him. "If you feel me move to attack, move to the opposite side and watch my eyes for what to do." I nodded, all too happy to hide behind his arm. We both crouched slightly, and I heard a growl rumbling in Peter's throat.

They appeared in front of us then: a female whose skin was as white as our own, and a male who was the darkest vampire I had ever seen. The female was nearly as large as the male, and her teeth were already bared as they approached. Their clothes weren't quite as ragged as ours, but the male looked afraid. He held up his hands peaceably, frowning at Peter's aggressive posture.

"My name is Jonah," he said in a comforting Creole accent. "This is my mate, Susan. Is this your territory? We don't want to cause offense."

Peter's growl subsided, though he didn't stand up out of his attack crouch. Jonah slid one arm out in front of his mate in a way that mirrored Peter, though she actually looked more dangerous than he did. She had two visible scars on her face and her teeth were still bared. "We haven't hunted in this area yet," Jonah assured us. "Though if you are not claiming it…" he trailed off, looking awkward.

Peter slowly eased up into standing, though I could still feel the tension in his arm. "What coven do you serve?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Jonah tilted his head, looking curiously at both of us in turn. "No coven."

The female finally spoke. "Were you in the Southern Wars?" When we made no answer, she pushed her mate's arm aside and stepped closer, her head held high but her ferocity gone. "I was made by Lorenzo, Arizona Coven. I saw battle three times." She rolled up a sleeve, exposing two more scars: one a bite, the other a jagged tear. "I deserted during the third battle; we were losing and I decided to see if it was possible to join a stronger coven. I ran for days, waiting to be challenged by scouts from all the _armies_ I had heard about."

"Ghost armies," Jonah said fondly, smiling down at her. "You almost killed _me_ when we first met."

"True," she laughed.

"We deserted too, three weeks ago," I blurted out. Peter gripped my arm harder, hissing for me to be quiet. "And we've been surprised not to encounter anyone before you."

"That's because there's no one to encounter," Susan said with a smug grin. "You've probably been fed the same lies I was. That there are armies and Wars covering the earth, right?"

"I don't understand," Peter said, still gripping my arm.

"That's what they tell all the newborns," Susan spat, her red eyes glaring past us to the southwest. "What better way to keep the soldiers in line, than to make them believe the world is full of danger? I learned from Jonah that I had been created for what the rest of the world calls the Southern Wars. The fighting is mostly limited to Central America, some of the southern states, and…." She paused. "I don't know how far into South America. I've heard Peru is free."

"Free," I repeated dumbly. The word sounded too good to be true. Could we trust them, though?

"Why should we believe you?" Peter challenged.

Susan shrugged. "Believe me or not, I don't care. And I don't blame you for being skeptical… I was at first." She smiled up at Jonah, her hard features softening slightly. "But anyone you meet will tell you the same. There are several of us fugitives out in the open. I've met two others."

"What about Europe?" I asked. "Isn't the fighting over there being driven by the German coven?"

Jonah laughed. "There is no such coven, at least not that I've heard! The humans caused that mess on their own."

My head was spinning. "The Volturi?"

"Oh, they're real enough," Susan said darkly. "They're the rulers of our world, or they're supposed to be. I wish they'd pay more attention to what's going on down in Central America."

"I don't," Jonah said warmly, laying his hand on her shoulder. "We never would have met. Or you might have been my dinner one day." She laughed at this, nuzzling her face against his. They seemed so relaxed- both with each other, and with us strangers. Peter and I looked at each other, and I knew he felt the same wonder I did. Was this world really as free as that? Were _we_ as free as that? Peter finally released his grip on my arm, sliding his hand down to tangle his fingers in mine.

"My name is Peter," he announced. "Made by Maria in Mexico." Susan's eyes widened slightly at this, but she made no other sign.

"Charlotte," I said.

"Pleased to meet you," Jonah said kindly. "You'll find that most of our kind aren't hostile… though you'd do well not to begin conversations by growling," he advised Peter. "Most of our kind are nomads like us… like you, unless you decide to settle down somewhere."

"Nomads?" Peter echoed.

"It's what you call any vampire who doesn't claim a permanent territory," Susan explained. "Many vampires aren't what you'd call friendly, but it is rather nice to have a chat with someone every couple of years- catch up on any gossip, that sort of thing. When you've been travelling for a few decades, you get to know a few of the other North American nomads, if you stick around. There are at least twenty-five of us, more or less, though I've personally only met seventeen. And some are only in North America part of the time. Some travel alone, some with a mate or occasionally a friend. Some nomads like to stake a claim to a certain city for a while, so you'll need to respect that. Otherwise, just steer clear of the South and you'll be fine. And you know about the Law, right? No letting the humans realize we exist?"

Peter nodded.

"I don't know how we can thank you," I said in a rush.

"I'm glad we could help," Jonah said. "I hope we'll meet again someday. Hunt?" he asked Susan. She nodded and they darted away to the North.

Peter and I stood staring after them for a long time. I finally pulled my hand out of his and turned around in a complete circle, taking in the landscape and the sky and the scents and the breeze as if for the first time. The world suddenly seemed so beautiful, and so _big_! It was all there for the taking. "I can't believe we're _free_," I breathed.

"If it's true," Peter murmured, his voice odd. I turned back to face him.

"Don't you believe them?"

Peter looked troubled. He nodded slowly.

"Then what? You're angry at Maria?"

"No. I mean, yes. It's not that…" He tilted his head, his eyes straining into the distance for something. And then all at once a beautiful smile broke out over his handsome face. He looked down at me. "Susan," he said. "My mother's name was Susan."

.

.

.

We took our new freedom cautiously. It was still possible that we had been lied to, that it was all some kind of trap. But as the weeks wore on, we grew bolder. We finally ventured into St. Louis to feed one night, and met another vampire named Garrett. He was cheerful and generous, and he confirmed everything that Jonah and Susan had told us. He had even met them once, thirty years ago. He was old, and had some interesting tales to tell as we passed the daylight in an abandoned apartment he had taken up residence in for a while. He offered to take us on a tour of the city in the afternoon, but we were uncomfortable being so close to crowds of humans. So he shrugged and wished us well, and sauntered away.

We climbed up onto a grassy knoll where we could overlook the city. Garrett had been quite the talker, and for a while we just soaked in the silence and the view together. The grass was crunchy with frost, making the most curious sound when I ran my fingers over it. I was surprised to find a beautiful white flower growing close to the ground, this late in the year. Its petals were delicately encased in ice, its youth frozen in time by some sudden frosty rain. It was dead, all right, but it seemed beauty could be found after death after all.

After a while I began humming the concerto that we had begun piecing together that last week in Mexico. Peter joined me in humming after a while, but suddenly fell silent. I stopped as well, waiting for him to tell me what was on his mind.

"We're free," he said simply. "I didn't really believe it… not until now. We're safe."

"I know." I laid back on the grass, watching the sky as a light snow began to fall. I had never seen snow before, at least not that I could remember. The silence grew louder, and we watched in fascination as the flakes drifted lazily back and forth on their journey down. Soon we were dotted with white, the snow not even bothering to melt on our cold skin. Each flake tickled as it landed. I laughed at Peter and flicked my hand through his hair, sending a spray of snow over both of us. He smiled, gently picking up my hand. He looked worried.

"_You're_ safe. You're free, Charlotte, to do whatever you want."

I crawled closer, nestling myself into his arms. "I'm doing it. _This_ is freedom. I want to explore the whole world with you."

He smiled down at me in relief, pulling me closer. "So do I." On a whim, he picked the frozen flower and tied it around my finger, the icy bloom sparkling on my hand like a diamond. "And we have all the time in the world."

He kissed me then, under the falling snow and the darkening sky. And when some of the snowflakes hung in the sky and became the stars and night fell... I wasn't afraid.


	22. 1300-900 BCE: Pygmalion

**A few days late for Halloween, but here it is! So this was supposed to be a tragic little one-shot about Aro using Chelsea (Charmion, back then) in order to get Sulpicia to stop complaining about her confinement. But Mr. "I have a grand story to tell!" wasn't satisfied with that, and so it turned into eleven thousand words of early history of the Volturi in general, and Sulpicia serves more as the personification of Aro's entire domain. We get to see some of his machinations to sculpt his destiny, right down to the very mind and heart of his beloved, throughout his first few centuries. Sadly we don't get to see any of our favorite Guards other than Chelsea/Charmion, as none of them have been born yet, and this all takes place before the Wars against the Egyptians and the Romanians, but this period was quite eventful enough without all of that.**

**Disclaimer: I did like an hour of research for this, tops. It's daunting enough dealing with pre-Roman-Republic/Greek-Dark-Ages history along the Mediterranean, and it's downright impossible to reconcile SM's unfortunate disregard for historical research with *actual* history, and the Volturi timeline contradicts even itself. So in other words, I was lazy and I'm sure there are some horrible historical gaffes and tons of anachronisms in here (starting with the title, no doubt). Just smile and nod and enjoy the story, and if there's something I can easily fix feel free to let me know.**

**This is for Kyilliki, a.k.a. the Dark Panlight and honorary queen of the Volturi. Many, many thanks to her, and to the real Panlight (tumblr), and to everyone else who has helped my Volturi headcanon along.**

* * *

**Aro POV**

_There is no hardship, no matter how great,_

_ that cannot be transformed into an even greater opportunity._

I remembered little of my human father, but I remembered this. It was the maxim he lived by, and that which he taught me to live by. My father was a great man, according to human measures, but he failed in the end. He succumbed, in my thirtieth year, to that hardship which no man can escape: his own mortality. As I watched him grow thinner and smaller, weaker and stupider, I resolved that I would not fail where he had.

And here I was. I had achieved my immortality, and turned its inherent hardships into opportunities. I trained myself to move among humans again. I learned, after hundreds of failed trials, to control myself enough to create others to serve me. I made alliances and destroyed my enemies. I learned, via the gift my immortality had given me, how to search, guide and employ the minds of those I found useful.

I was no longer a vulnerable nomad, skulking in the shadows; first there was Marcus, a young man whose immortal mind was alight with a power he had no use for… power ripe for the taking. With his gift I became skilled in reading the bonds between humans and vampires; we quickly became invincible as a diplomatic force, carving a territory for ourselves and gradually talking its boundaries outward. Next we joined with a mated pair, Caius and Athenadora. Caius was an angry man; his mind was dull but intelligent and eager for conquest and vengeance. Athenodora was his fiery counterpart, her mind equally dull but her loyalty absolute and her ambitions creative. Through their memories and daydreams I began to open my eyes to larger possibilities. I created new vampires, biting and leaving them to writhe in the dirt alone and the coming to their rescue soon after their frightening awakening. I graciously accepted their oaths and sent them away, singing our praises to an open world.

I gave young Marcus a gift one day. Back in my first months of immortality, I had consumed what remained of my human family, minds and blood, but something moved me to spare little Didyme. I left my infant sister in the care of a temple of Apollo, curious what she might become if I were to let her grow and grant her immortality. I enjoyed playing the role of the god himself, entrusting the priestesses with the care of my half-mortal child. I would return one day, I warned them, and their reward would equal the care they had given her. And so when Apollo returned for his Didyme, he found her happy and thriving, and the temple itself happy and thriving around her.

The priestesses begged payment for the hardships they had endured, despite their happiness; men had flocked into the forbidden sanctum of the temple, desperately pursuing young Didyme with their suit. But despite these hardships the priestesses also begged to keep her, weeping for her loss and proclaiming that Pallas Athena herself had appeared and demanded that the child be made a priestess instead. The goddess had, apparently, provided gold for the journey that would send Didyme to another temple in order to protect her from her admirers.

Athenodora did always like sticking her nose in my business.

I took Didyme despite their protests, returning in three days to let her feast on those who had raised her. I told her that I was her brother in truth, and not the god whom she had worshipped as her father all these years. Then I told her the tragic story of how our family had come to an end, slain by a vampire who then died at my hand. She wept in horror at her new life, and I was equally disappointed: her mind had not grown into a brilliant power like mine, as I had hoped. But her presence brought me happiness, nonetheless, and when she grew calm enough to get to know Marcus, she found her own happiness. I blessed the union, more than happy to see young Marcus settled with a vampire whose loyalty I had thought I could doubly command, through both blood and venom.

How wrong I was.

But in the beginning, Didyme turned out to be an even greater asset than I had thought. It had been no coincidence that the temple had grown rich and favored, or her door assaulted by desperate admirers; Didyme's mind may not have grown into what I had hoped, but her spirit had. She fairly glowed with happiness, even when she herself was unhappy. We all felt it, and more importantly, other vampires did as well. Our territory had grown somewhat by this point, encircling most of Greece and Asia Minor. There had always been nomads passing through our lands, humbly seeking permission to feed as they passed by. But with Didyme's gift now calling them like a siren, we had _pilgrims_. Vampires who had heard of the bliss of her presence now travelled from far corners of the earth to feel the miracle for themselves.

Our fame grew, and I saw in the mind of one of these pilgrims that we were now being called the Greek Coven. Many of the pilgrims were nomads with no purpose or territory, and begged to stay, offering oaths of loyalty. The object of their worship was Didyme herself, but that was acceptable; she had no interest in commanding any loyalty outside of Marcus' heart. As her creator and elder brother, I humbly offered myself as her priest, accepting their oaths to the Greek Coven at large. To some I granted territory along the edges of our own; a border Guard. Some I sent away, offering Didyme's blessing and instructing them to spread the word abroad as they travelled. A select few were kept, once I deemed their minds worthy and Caius deemed their fighting skill worthy. We clad them in cloaks of gray, so that other pilgrims and nomads might learn to recognize and fear them on sight. We simply called them the Guard; all they sought in payment was protection and blood and the happiness that their worship of Didyme brought them. Marcus was irritated at their constant attentions upon his mate- his _wife_, he now called her defensively- but wise enough to see what those attentions had brought us. He of all people could see the glittering bonds that were being laid down each time an oath was given, strengthening our place in the world. So he quietly remained at her side every moment, graciously sharing her with her admirers while warning them to keep their distance, both with his own teeth and with the new Guards. She was happy enough with this arrangement; Marcus was her whole world now, and she was his.

That was the problem. How Didyme could share my blood and yet not glory in this power for itself, I could not understand. I was grateful for her naiveté, but I was no fool. Her loyalty was _only_ to Marcus now. I conceded that right grudgingly; the ways of love in this new world were still a mystery to me, but I had seen enough to know that it transcended the rights of blood and even venom. And so I found myself in a Coven of five- not myself and my creation, plus three, but myself alone and two mated pairs. There was only one thing for me to do: create a love of my own. I had created one for Marcus, after all, and I was not one to trust these things to the Fates. Covens like ours were a rarity in this new world; most vampires were wild and free, and I decided it was not wise to leave my heart flying loose, in danger of being snagged by something so wild and careless.

I found my medium easily enough. Our territory was growing rapidly now, thanks to our new Guards, expanding into the strange, barbaric lands of Europa. The Etruscan and Roman tribes were hardly civilized, but their blood was exquisite. These people had little in the way of knowledge about our kind, and as an experiment I decided to keep it that way. Even Caius, warlike, passionate Caius, saw the wisdom in this. With the humans blissfully unaware of our nature, we were able to make a permanent settlement on a long stretch of peninsula that grew out into the Great Sea. This placement at the doorway to the world, and our anonymity, granted us access to all sorts of exotic flavors- and granted _me_ access to all sorts of exotic minds. But I found her not in the barbaric market-towns on the coasts, nor in the shipyards, but in a quaint little Roman village.

_Sulpicia._

She was a lovely little thing, hardly fourteen years old. Her father had been some sort of chieftain, but he had fallen in battle with a neighboring tribe. At least that was the story she had been given by the weeping survivor, the story I had paid him to tell her. In reality her father and his entire retinue had been served as the main course for our thirst that week. I had been rather upset to learn of the man's importance, when I had taken his thoughts and his blood. We were new at this experiment of anonymity, and it had not been our intent to take any humans of stature. And so I had plucked one screaming soldier from a Guard's greedy hands, filling his own hands with gold and the story he was to tell.

There is no hardship, no matter how great, that cannot be transformed into an even greater opportunity. The story I concocted would be sure to revive another round of enmity between Sulpicia's village and the neighboring tribes- and the more battles between the local humans, the better for us. We had gold enough now to purchase whole armies of slaves for our consumption, and the port with which to do it, but that grew dull at times. And the blood of well-fed soldiers was always superior to that of slaves, fresh off a ship and ill from their voyage.

I followed the human back to the village, letting him see me once or twice on his journey in order to strike fear in his heart, lest he falter in his trust. He clutched the purse of gold and ran home, working himself into a proper frenzy as he wept and moaned and tore his clothes before the noble maiden who ran, alarmed, to hear his report. She despaired to hear of her father's death and withdrew into mourning; that was to be the end of it. I intended to leave her alive, to spread the story and stir up those battles which would serve our thirst well.

But something held me, that night, to stay in the shadows and watch her. When the household was asleep she fled into the gardens and wept again, begging her gods to avenge her father and to give her death, for she no longer had any place in the world. Her betrothed had also been slain- I believe he had been Athenadora's particular favorite dish that day- and now she was utterly distraught. She spilled out more of the story in her prayers: her father had spent the last of his fortune to finance that raid, and it was to have been their salvation, for their enemies were rich in horseflesh. She would need to sell the remaining slaves to settle his debts and, in turn, sell herself in marriage in order to secure some kind of passable future. I took that as my cue.

She gasped when I appeared, for the moon was full and I shone with the brilliance of the gods she had just been praying to. She knelt in proper humility, but I saw the gleam in her eyes before she averted them: she believed her prayers were to be answered. I touched her face tenderly, and my own breath caught as her mind rushed into my own. She was a delight! For a woman, especially in these uncouth hills, to have such a mind! She was hungry for all sorts of learning, for all sorts of excitement, but most of all for power, at least such power as the daughter of a lesser chieftain might aspire to. She was strong enough to beg the gods for death, rather than lose that power. I tipped her face upwards and she unabashedly gazed up at me, who she thought her blessed doom; her rescue from a base and unworthy future.

"But there is another future for you," I heard myself saying. I had not thought to seek out a woman such as this; I had imagined myself choosing some random specimen of great beauty and dull mind, someone soft who would willingly be formed as I chose. I was to be a sculptor, forming my Galatea not out of ivory or marble, but out of flesh and blood, to _become_ living marble upon her completion. How, then, was it my own heart that I felt being carved asunder? I found myself pulling the girl up to stand with me, babbling like a fool and promising her an immortality in which she would be a queen. I promised her the blood of the tribe who had killed her father; I promised her the whole world. I promised her the stars, if she would come with me. I promised her unchanging beauty, bright and terrible. I promised her an army of fifteen gods and goddesses to serve us; I hadn't half that number, and most of those were border Guards, but that could be changed. I promised her riches and a castle and an empire that would circle the Sea. Her eyes grew wide as she listened; when the promise of my venom had changed from a gift into a _suit_ I could not say. All I knew was that this was the woman, and some misbegotten part of my mind needed her to come willingly.

That should have been warning enough that I had met my doom. I had, as a new vampire, carefully scorned the gods once I realized that my immortality was at least equal to their own. But I had forgotten the Fates, whom no man may scorn.

.

.

.

Sulpicia more than lived up to my promises; her beauty was indeed great and terrible. Her first act was to feast upon the entirety of the tribe I had promised her. She screamed her father's name as she fed, and I laughed indulgently as she bathed herself in their blood. When it was over, she washed in the Tiber and journeyed with me back to our home on the peninsula. When we crested the last peak from which she could see her village, she looked back at her old life with her new eyes. I grew anxious, for she stood and stared for two full days and nights, her wild newborn mind awash with things I did not understand. But then she turned to me and laid her hand upon my lips, thinking that my venom was the source of her immortality. _Now_, she thought simply. I knew, then, that my heart was not the only one that had been carved and given away. I took her offering and gave her mine, and we knew happiness.

.

.

.

By the time Sulpicia was civilized enough to take her place, we were being called the Mediterranean Coven. I had little care for the ruling of our territory in those days; my mind was consumed with Sulpicia and with giving her every gift I could conceive of. I tore down the ruined fortress we had been calling home and built her a castle. She praised me for my cleverness in concealing our nature from the human natives, and she soon began coming up with new ideas of how to perfect the subterfuge. She delighted in the gifts and travels I conjured for her pleasure, and she learned voraciously, but she also took a keen interest in our affairs closer to home. We laughed and schemed and whispered in the dark, dreaming of ways to expand our little empire. I had chosen my queen well; now that I reveled in my glorious bride and her brilliant, delicious mind, I was glad that my heart had faltered in its plans. I had always grasped what I could, but now I had found my inspiration for doing what I had always done. My Galatea had become my Muse.

Caius was rather fond of Sulpicia, as a brother should be; he was especially glad that my fascination with her kept me out of his hair for a time. I had, in desiring to keep my promise to Sulpicia, created five new vampires to serve in our Guard, and he was quite busy wrangling their appetites and their instruction. Marcus showed little interest in my bride, though he was genuinely happy for me. I was disappointed to see, via his slightly smug thoughts, that my bond with Sulpicia could not rival his bond with Didyme. But I tried not to let it upset me; Didyme had a supernatural power over poor Marcus. He was just as enslaved by her aura as anyone else, more so for his unique closeness to her. Didyme herself was reserved, disturbed by Sulpicia's thirst for blood and dominion, but she never failed to be gracious and kind; but that was always her way.

Athenodora was skeptical of Sulpicia at first; she had always been far more ambitious than Didyme, and never thought her a threat. And so she had wielded, unfettered, that power that some women hold over their husbands. Caius was a terror to his enemies in battle, and a menace to those who served beneath him, but his heart was led on a string by Athenodora. I still had his mind, when I chose to, but she had never begrudged me that power. But now that I had a mate of my own, she felt threatened. She knew, even better than Caius did, that I was the true power behind every success, and so she would never have openly been unkind to her new sister, but she was wary. Sulpicia did not want or miss this companionship, though I cautioned her that Athenodora was to be treated as her equal. She was not, of course, and Sulpicia was wise enough to see this; but in her own little human way she had already become accustomed to playing that sort of game. She copied Didyme instead, wearing a gracious smile to cover a feline apprehension. Athenodora soon relaxed, though they were not friends.

But this new peace did not last; Sulpicia grew jealous of Didyme's admirers. I tried to explain the politics of this benefit, but when a woman's pride is wounded, a man may exhaust himself in vain trying to mend it. She was quick to heed my warnings, though she was still young, both in mind and in immortality; her mask slipped at times. Didyme herself was too sweet to realize the stirrings beneath the surface of Sulpicia's manners, but she felt them nonetheless, because she, too, was unhappy. She was restless in the enclosure of our new castle. And while we all ventured out to hunt and travel, she had grown tired of the pilgrims that were always passing through to taste her aura. She came to hate her gift, wishing for seclusion with only Marcus and ourselves for company. But within the castle she was equally restless, a problem which was aggravated by Sulpicia's coolness.

I saw it in Marcus' mind one day: he and Didyme had been thinking about going off on their own. He was watching me hesitantly for my reaction when he deliberately gave me his thoughts; I knew not what reaction to give. I did not, as Marcus' equal, have the right to enforce his place in the Coven, and I had long since lost any influence I had over Didyme's loyalty. But I was deeply hurt by his disloyalty; he had been my first ally and friend. Didyme's I could forgive, though the thought of losing her pained me deeply.

But there was more at stake than my personal happiness. I had worked hard to build the little empire that now circled the Great Sea, and I had, on my more ambitious days, more plans for its expansion. Marcus had always been a deadly fighter, and that loss would be crippling. But even more so, his gift had always been the key to our diplomatic successes. More often than not we avoided violence altogether, using Marcus' insight in order to splinter our enemies' alliances and talk ourselves into dominion. When violence became inevitable, his gift became even more crucial, allowing us to target the correct vampires in order to dissolve the purpose of whatever enemy force had been gathered against us, at minimal cost to ourselves.

And Marcus was not the only power I stood to lose. I would not miss Didyme's devoted pilgrims, to be sure, but that was how the Guard had begun. Would I still be able to command their loyalty, if the true object of their affections, and the aura of happiness she projected, were to leave the area? And there was an even greater risk: neither Marcus or Didyme were in and of themselves, ambitious. They both wanted nothing more than peace, whether that would come through wandering or through carving themselves a quiet little corner of the world to call their own. But I had enemies, some of which were far stronger than me. And many of those wandering nomads had the potential to grow in power if they were to attach themselves to Marcus and Didyme, to say nothing of the tremendous surge in power that my truer enemies would gain if they were to lure the happy couple into their clutches.

All of this and more flashed through my mind during the seconds that Marcus shared his thought, watching for my reaction. Should I attempt to forbid their departure? That seemed foolish; there was no quicker way to lose their loyalty than to try and command it. I smiled and wished him every happiness, deciding behind that smile to watch and wait.

I withdrew to Sulpicia's rooms afterward, to contemplate this new problem. I found her comfort cold, which prompted her immediate demand for information. I could never resist her curiosity; it so reminded me of my own.

"There is a new threat," I confessed, tracing her brow with my finger. Her mind flew to images of snarling little armies; if only it were that sort of threat! I smiled sadly as she imagined me, her god of war, shining and victorious as I slew my enemies.

"I am hesitant to act. Some wars are too costly."

"You promised we would rule," she whispered in the dark. "You said you would make me the queen of an empire that circled the Sea. You swore these things."

"And you have them," I pointed out.

She laid her hand in mine, her eyes bright and trusting. _And what are you willing to do so that I may keep them?_

I drew her close and kissed her hair. "Anything, dearest one," I murmured in her ear. "I would do anything."

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My course was decided for me in a matter of weeks. My sister had not offered her hand to me in over a year, but the change in her demeanor was obvious. As she and Marcus discussed their plans, she seemed to bloom with life. Her aura of happiness trembled with new energy as she contemplated her freedom, and my heart ached with renewed love for the infant sister I had spared. But princes are not permitted to let their hearts rule; there are times when we must be stern and swift in judgment in order to preserve that which is entrusted to us… that which we have promised, in the dark, to preserve. The simple facts were these: Marcus and Didyme could not leave. Marcus had always given me his loyalty until now. Didyme had not. If I lost Marcus' gift, the potential consequences would be disastrous, both in terms of my own loss and my enemies' gain. If I lost Didyme's gift, the consequences could be contained. Marcus was a valuable fighter. Didyme was not.

It was done later that same month. Didyme had a habit of hunting alone, and she had always liked to run in the rain; she loved Marcus and tolerated her admirers, but she had this one refuge of solitude. I circled around to the far side of the village she was heading for. I called out to her, saying I would spend time with my sister before her travels would take her away from me. She wept then, saying she had no wish to leave me, and promised to visit, and said all those things that girls say when they leave their family. I wept as well and embraced the sister I loved so dearly, cursing the Fate that had made her betray me in the end, and that now forced my hand. I would have done it then, but my heart faltered for there was no fire prepared; I would harden my heart to carry out the execution, but she must not suffer.

We walked for a time around the village, tasting the scents on the air. I teased my sister about her peculiar appetites- for she only took old men and women, out of the kindness of her heart- and even gave her a gift: a memory that was new to her. It was not a memory of my own; I had gathered it from the mind of another of our sisters as I took her memory and blood that fateful night. Didyme laughed as I recounted the story of how she, the petted baby of the family, had smeared mashed olives upon my face one day, when our mother had so foolishly asked me to feed her. I drew her near to a fire around which were gathered some miserable peasants, pointing out two of the older ones to her.

"I will take the others," I promised. For our little experiment was now Law, which even we ourselves obeyed; we had no wish to leave our castle, and so we continued to keep the humans unaware of our presence.

I struck just as she began to pounce, and just as the humans began to turn their heads. I moved too fast for their eyes; I would leave them alive to tell the tale. All they heard was the single burst of her cry before her throat was torn from her breath. All they saw was the outward explosion of sparks from the pitiful fire, and the beautiful face of a goddess that seemed to suddenly appear in the flames. It was gone in the blink of an eye, consumed in a cloud of purple smoke and the sweet stench of death.

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Marcus' grief was terrible to behold. His search for Didyme quickly ended when the humans gave witness to the miracle they had seen. He killed everyone in the village, and when he came home he killed all of Didyme's Guards and burned them in a great fire right in the main hall of the castle. It took Caius, Athenodora and myself to restrain him from throwing himself in the fire. We held him while Sulpicia extinguished the flames, and then he crumpled to the ground tearing at his hair and wailing and screaming like a madman for us to let him die. We could not leave him alone; whenever he had an arm free he would tear at himself with his own teeth, his mind eager to escape us so he could build another fire.

I wept with my brother there in the Great Hall, for I had lost my sister. My little Didyme! I had loved her so; why could we not have all lived forever in happiness? Why did she have to take her light away from me?! I felt her loss more with every passing day; we all did. Without the aura of her gift, we all found ourselves cold and sad. Caius was beside himself, tearing the countryside apart for evidence of the killer; he was afraid to let Athenodora outside the walls until the mystery had been solved. When I recovered from my first grief I went out to help him search, careful to fear equally for Sulpicia's security, lest he suspect me. We had only the two home Guards left, after Marcus' anger had been spent on the others; these were left to guard our wives as we searched. Marcus himself was too weak with thirst and grief to harm himself now. He was too weak to stand or even speak; he was a miserable ball of stone grief that refused to be carried out of the bed he had shared with my sister.

We returned at intervals, bringing humans home to feed our Wives and their Guards. We did not feed Marcus; we had no more manpower with which to Guard him against himself, and so we left him in his bed, trembling and petrifying in his agony. At long last we gave up the search, returning home to find that our Wives had grown close in their confinement, their grief turned to pity for poor Marcus.

We all held vigil over him for a time, each lost in our own thoughts. I was dismayed at Marcus' disability; he and Didyme had been together for hardly more than a century! I was in awe of the bond he must have had with her, to be so destroyed by her loss. I was grateful, now, for that observation Marcus had made when I had brought my bride home, how our bond was less powerful than his own. As an experiment I imagined losing my Sulpicia.

And then I understood.

The pain was so great, so very great! If my heart had been chipped and carved and reformed when I had given her my love, it was blown to pieces at this one thought. I fell to my knees at Marcus' bedside like a man wailing to the gods at an altar. My cries frightened the others, and would not stop until Sulpicia was crushed by my blind embrace. The others mistook my grief, laying their hands on my skin to assure me of their own sorrow over Didyme's loss.

"Didyme," I cried, barely altering the word in time as it crossed my lips. _SULPICIA! You can never, never be in danger again!_ I knew, in that moment, the mistake that I had made. I had not safely anchored my heart by creating this woman: I had torn it out of my own chest, and it now lay trembling and vulnerable to the open air. I had formed a blade and turned it on this heart which now lay outside me, ready to pierce my sanity at any moment I should drop it. The Fates had returned my scorn, laughing as they allowed me to create my own doom.

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As soon as the moment seemed right, I approached Caius. He was relieved to learn that we shared the same fear, when I sought him out privately and insisted that our Wives needed more protection. Our first task was to create and train more home Guards. We considered bringing Marcus some blood, once we had enough muscle to keep him safe, but it seemed kinder to leave him to his private agony for the moment. Two of the new Guards were appointed as Hunters, and it became their task to bring blood home so that we did not have to leave Athenodora and Sulpicia as often.

Caius was distraught. He wanted to see Athenodora free and happy again, but he told himself that her security must be his first concern. The women drew even closer, finding solace in one another during their confinement; as they felt their power being taken slowly away, they had no further reason to quarrel. And when Sulpicia looked on me with hurt and accusation, I had little comfort to offer her. I had done what I did for her sake, after all; it pained me that I could not share with her the depth of that truth. When she finally grew restless enough to challenge me one day, asking what had become of that war that was too costly, I answered her with all the candor I could allow myself: that it was still upon us. She stared at me for a moment, her eyes falling black and inscrutable. I reached for her hand, anxious to see how she was interpreting my statement, but for the first time she twisted out of my grip and withdrew, leaving me standing alone with the one thought I had been able to hear in time.

_It has cost you more than you think._

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Our Empire continued to grow, but it brought no joy to any of us. When Caius finally felt it was safe to do so, he ventured out with much of the new Guard, ceaselessly patrolling our vast territory and hoping to be challenged. He still felt guilty about Athenodora's confinement, and angry that he could not solve Didyme's murder and save our brother, and his old wounds still ached for vengeance against those enemies that we were still too small to challenge.

I focused my efforts closer to home. Desperate to ease Sulpicia's unhappiness, I worked to make the castle more of a home. I brought in humans to improve and beautify the structure, and then brought in more human slaves to serve us and sustain us. We had always had a few slaves, since the castle had been built, but there was no reason we could not live as kings and queens, when that was what we were. Our main source of blood still came from our territory, but Sulpicia should want for nothing. It was a simple matter to keep the slaves compartmentalized so that most of them were unaware of our nature at any given time. And with more minds being brought through our doors, I was free to travel the world without going outside our walls. I touched every mind I could, seeking for a cure for poor Marcus: for rumors of healers, shamans, priests, oracles, anything that might be turned into a vampire which might be able to bring him back to us. This was out of love for my brother, but also out of anger for myself; I had executed my sister in order to keep him, and for what? For him to lay on his bed, curled and frozen? This could not be borne.

And that is how a hardship, though it was great, was transformed into an even greater opportunity.

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I had seen the woman Charmion in the mind of a Greek slave. I said nothing to Caius, or to anyone, afraid it might come to nothing; I made the journey alone. She was right where the slave's memory had left her: standing in the shadows of a great tent erected on a field of battle. There was death all around, for Greece was ready to fall to her enemies. But inside the tent there was peace- men rank on rank standing quietly with their enemies as they watched their kings speak and treat quietly upon a dais, shadowed against the dying sun. And there in those shadows stood the woman, garbed in the robes of a priestess. A woman should never have been permitted this sight, but I already knew of her role; she was a talisman, a silent oracle who served the vanquished king and silently worked to bring about as favorable a peace as she could. Her mere presence had stopped the fighting the month before, when my fortunate slave had been sold and the Fates had sent him to me. And now, it was time for me to see if I could usurp the Fates forever.

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I used the same method that had succeeded two centuries ago, when I had created a series of vampires to serve as propaganda. I took the woman and bit her in the dark, careful not to speak or reveal anything about myself which might allow her to identify me later on. As my teeth and hands took hold, I choked on her blood in wonder, for her mind was indeed a kind of treasure I had never thought to seek. New dreams arose, distracting me from my task: the cure of my brother, but far more than that. I saw an empire that had no territory... that needed no territory, for it was an empire of minds. I saw my divinity realized and my greatest enemies burning in a cloud of ash. I nearly killed the girl, greedily devouring her blood as I devoured the world in my dreams. But I had not come this far to fail now.

I deposited her among the rocks of an abandoned shipyard, destroyed in the humans' little wars; she woke alone and afraid. I watched from afar as she massacred a family of fishermen and wept in her confusion on the beach, and then I played my newest role.

I took a little coracle that was still in good repair, delighting in the difficulty of my task; I had never, as a vampire or human, managed any kind of vessel on my own. Using purely the memories of those I had touched, I quickly learned to master the oar and went out to sea, coming ashore to find the newborn staring at me in wonder. I was glistening in the sunlight and she must have mistaken me for a god, for she knelt in the sand; rather amusing, considering she was glistening also. But in this role, I was a humble creature of the earth like herself.

"It is true, then," I whispered in Greek as I clambered ashore, speaking loud enough for her to hear. "The oracle spoke of this day; that I would find her on this very shore!"

She looked up, now realizing that we were the same.

"Rise, young one," I said grandly. "Who is your maker?"

"My maker?"

I pretended disgust. "Alas! There are many demons among our kind who cast their venom carelessly, Charmion… that is your name, is it not? Or perhaps the oracle was mistaken…"

Her eyes grew wide. "My name is Charmion."

"Ah! Then it is all true. You are the one who is destined to bring my brother's mind back to him."

"I am no healer. I am…" she looked down upon her new skin with horror and began to weep, striking angrily at her dry eyes. " I do not know what I am."

"I will instruct you, young one. For that is why I have been sent, to lead you in this new life. You are to save my brother, and I am to lift you up above the armies of the immortal gods. You are to bring peace and unity where there is chaos."

Her eyes lifted with hope at this last promise; that had always been her role. I held out my hand to her, ready to strike if she should decide to wield her mysterious powers against me. She looked back at the tent upon the field of battle, hesitating; I was glad to see her loyalty, both now and before, when she had not deserted her king for his conqueror. That was a good omen.

"You have served the mortals well," I praised her. "But now it is time for you to take your place among immortals." She laid her hand upon mine and I eagerly took in her new mind. I saw no clear evidence of her power having grown, but neither had I tested it yet. But I was not disappointed, for curled in the recesses of her expanded mind I could _feel_ a coiled power, just waiting to be sprung. I also saw that she could already perceive our bond; her acuity was nothing like Marcus', but she already saw that she was meant to serve me, and that my intentions toward her were good.

"Good, indeed…" I breathed, staring into her red eyes with excitement. "I will take you home now, Charmion. And I will swear you an oath: that you will never have to serve a defeated king again."

As the sounds of Greece faded behind us, I heard the clash of weapons as Charmion's king found himself without her power.

That was an even better omen.

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"Caius!" I called excitedly. "Come down here and see this!"

The gate to the lower training rooms flung open angrily, slamming and deforming against the wall. "Have you gone completely _mad_?" Caius thundered, pointing to the stinking pile of embers and ash that lay between us. It was all that remained of the guard Amyntor. "I thought Marcus was the only one stupid enough to light the death fire inside the castle!"

"Peace, brother!" I laughed. "Now watch." I turned to another Guard, who stood serenely against the far wall with his red eyes fixed on me in worship. I snapped my fingers at him. "Secundus!"

He snapped out of his trance. "Yes, Master?"

Caius frowned, looking at me. "'Master'?" I waved him into silence.

"Secundus, end yourself," I commanded. The Guard immediately began to tear at his arms and hands with his teeth, and threw himself upon the smoldering ashes. Caius jumped back in horror as the flames leapt back up and took him. He did not even cry out.

I laughed, clapping my hands in delight and praise of Charmion, who was not even present. "Do you see, brother?" I said eagerly. "My little trip was not in vain."

"I see nothing," Caius said harshly, "except that you are an idiot. The whole point was to find someone who would _prevent_ Marcus from taking his own life! And what was that 'Master' nonsense?"

I sighed in disappointment. Caius was always so short-sighted; but that was probably for the best. "I don't know about that part," I confessed. "They just started saying it when she bound them. But this was only her extreme effort, of course! I am only testing her at this point, refining her. Once she learns control, we will bind Marcus to ourselves, but only enough that he will not take his own life against our wishes."

"Test all you want," Caius growled, stalking away. "But use the human slaves from now on! It took me fifty years to get those two in order."

"My apologies, brother," I said softly as he disappeared around the corner. "But I think you will soon discover a whole new world of _order_."

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Ten months later, Charmion was ready for her appointed task. She spent a full hour in Marcus' bedchamber, staring down at my brother in his stone misery. I held her hand the whole time, watching in wonder through her gift as the new bonds were laid down. When she gave me a nod of satisfaction, I had two slaves brought in. I had to bite the first one myself, holding the human up to Marcus' lips until he had enough strength to drink on his own. As his mind and thirst began to blur back into focus, I quickly asked Charmion to bring in two more humans. By the time Marcus was sated, the room was covered with so much blood he might as well have been a newborn.

"Didyme," he cried, clutching at my robe in desperation. "Slay me, brother. I cannot linger when she is calling!"

I embraced my brother, genuinely full of joy to see him speak again. But my greatest joy was to see the new bonds that his own gift betrayed in perfect clarity; Charmion had wielded her power well. "The time to mourn has passed," I said gently. "We have other work to do."

"Other work to do," he echoed dully. He cried out to Didyme once more, and then rose to clean himself. I wished with all my heart that Charmion's power could have healed him of his grief, but it could not. But it was enough; my brother came before Caius and myself in the Great Hall later that day. His eyes were dull with grief, but he was composed. And when he turned his gaze on me, full of hurt at the betrayal he could plainly see, I smiled at him and gestured for him to take his place at my right hand.

And over in the shadows stood Charmion, full of relief at her success and in my pride, which had solidified her place. I nodded to her slightly and she turned her eyes to Caius.

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I was slow to employ Charmion in the years that followed. Caius was too dull to see that she had stirred his own mind, just with the very lightest of touches. He still shouted at me and got his way when I thought it best. But he was too occupied with our new experiments to bother much about his own loyalty, which had never wavered in the first place. We began making and testing new Guards, using Charmion's gift at various levels to see what had the greatest benefit. It would be foolish to forge any of those extreme bonds which she had achieved in those first days; half the power was found in ensuring that the one bound was unaware of the change. This was impossible with Marcus, of course, but in most cases a delicate hand produced a mind ready to serve, but still strong in itself.

But even as we worked at this new possibility, another one was stirring in my mind. I had encountered few like myself, Marcus, Didyme and Charmion: those who had that extra brightness of some power in their mind. I had found it occasionally, but it was rarely the kind of power that was worth using; I had little use for a mind that could conjure rainbows and even less for one that could divine truth from lie. It was true that I had transformed Didyme with the hope that some power would erupt from our shared blood. But it was not really until Charmion that this new possibility ignited in my mind, bringing forth greater dreams. What if I were to seek out these vampires? What if I were to try transforming certain humans, like I had Didyme and Charmion, to see if some power would blossom in their new minds? Could I really achieve that empire I had envisioned by the Sea, an empire not of land but of minds? With Charmion at my side it might be possible. I had lost the loyalty of our border Guards soon after Didyme's death, but that sort of defection would not be possible now.

I thought, briefly, about replacing Marcus with her; but she was no warrior. Even if she was, I would not risk her in battle. And Marcus' gift of discernment was far greater than her own; I needed him now more than ever. In any case, she was content. She knew that she was poised between servant and equal, if not with myself than with Caius and Marcus. This had ever been her role, and she knew far more freedom in it now, in her immortal life. I had given her more oaths and promises, each time she achieved what tasks I set before her. As of yet she had not made any claims to reward; perhaps she would someday. If she grew too great in her own eyes, I would slay her in an instant, and she knew this; her hand was always forfeit to mine, to ensure her own loyalty. But I had little worry; she had no desire to rule in her own right, and she still fervently believed in the prophecy that had brought me to find her in Greece. The shadows were her domain, and she was content. I now turned my mind to a problem closer to my heart.

_Sulpicia._

I had been so busy, these last few years. I had given little time to my beloved, but in truth she would not have me. She was pleased that Marcus had improved, but every other step I took to ensure our future made her withdraw further. The farther Caius and I stretched out our grasp, the more careful we were to protect those we loved. More Guards now stood watch over our Wives, and this time we did not fear their treachery. There were thrones in the Great Hall now, but there were only three. Didyme's murder had never been solved, after all. We still had envoys and nomads to deal with, and we would not think of exposing our dear ones to the roving eyes of our visitors. For we had pilgrims again; this time they were drawn not to the joy of Didyme, but to the greatness of the Volturi.

Latin was a barbaric, emotional tongue, fit only for those barefoot villages and huts that had unwittingly produced my beloved and so many of our new Guards. But Caius had a fondness for its stark emotion, and had one day jokingly applied the term _Volturi_ to our experiments, leaving the walls stained with blood and venom and ash: I take. I assign to myself. I register. I consume. I had scathingly replied that he was the one who kept consuming, splattering about the remains of our failed experiments in strength and loyalty and madness. But what had begun as a private joke became our new title, as we tentatively rid ourselves of the outmoded idea of plain territory. It was a message to those enemies that were still too great for us to challenge: we are coming. We will triumph, not in land and blood but in fealty and power. We will consume. In later years we would be compared to birds of prey, feasting on the spoils of the vampire civilizations that we were destined to destroy; an uncouth comparison, perhaps, but not inaccurate... if a bit hyperbolic. We had no intention of destroying anyone except those who stood between us and utter dominion. We introduced our new name to a few passing nomads, and sent them off with our blessing and a brief glance from Charmion; they did the rest for us.

I laughed at the future, watching as my dreams revealed themselves. But true joy was not within my grasp, for Sulpicia shunned me. She understood, with that keen mind of hers, that my first love was power, not her. But if only I could make her see! Without her adoration, it was all meaningless. I was driven, true, but to what end? If only she would look at me as she first had, with trust and worship and hope and revel in this power with me! Did she not see that I had so much more to offer her now? Could she not see that power only begot power? I needed _her_ in order to enjoy it properly. If I protected her too much, it was only because she was so terribly dear to me. She was my heart, if not my source. Despite the power I had surrounded myself with, I stood to lose _everything_\- either by instant tragedy of the kind Marcus had suffered, or by the slow decay of my happiness if she continued to keep herself from me. She was only hurting herself, by hurting me; I was her heart _and_ her source.

And thus I ventured into a new blasphemy, taking up my tools again to perfect my Galatea. This time I had no fear of the laughter of the Fates, for they, too, served me now.

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Today was the day; I would need to be careful. Sulpicia knew of Charmion's power, and so did Caius. They both also knew that I had turned that power on our brother, and were wary of the day I might turn it on them. It had been turned on Caius immediately; that had been the first real test of Charmion's delicacy. If I was to wield that power in the magnitude necessary to alter my beloved, Caius would know. He would need to think it was his idea. And it would be; I would see to that. But first I needed to tend the garden in which I was soon to sow the seed; I would give Sulpicia a little gift to remind her of our love, before she learned what it could truly mean.

I found what I was seeking out in the servants' courtyard, hanging up linens to dry in the sunshine with another slave. Their chatter ceased as they saw me crossing the courtyard toward them, glittering like a god. Both their hearts raced as I drew nearer, and they averted their eyes.

"Ah, Glykeria!" I said grandly, stopping in front of her. "I've found you at last."

She raised her eyes slightly. "My lord?"

I frowned, scanning over her appearance. She was coated with odiferous sweat from her morning of labor, her tunic had several threadbare spots- not visible to her human eyes, but still- and her hair was dry and bound in an ugly, ragged knot. And what was that _horrible_ stench on her breath? I laid my hand on her face, which made her tremble. I sifted through the onslaught of her new memories, reveling in the barbaric twists and turns of her native tongue.

I had bought her in early winter, as a gift: she was the closest to pure violet I had ever smelled. _Sulpicia's favorite._ But instead of giving my beloved her treat that day, I had stashed it away deep in the servant's wing, assigning the girl duties which would never bring her near Sulpicia. She had been on a special diet ever since: only grains and sweet foods. She was forbidden to have meat, fish, or any bitter herbs or vegetables. Plenty of candied violets, and she was only permitted to bathe in oils made from certain floral essences. I even gave her a new name, to replace the unseemly mouthful she had been saddled with at birth_. _

Glykeria. _Sweetness._ Her scent had grown even sweeter with her new treatment; I had been saving her for a time like this, when such an offering was needed. But was everything to go against me today?! I saw in her memory that she had snuck into the kitchen early this morning, craving flesh, and had stolen a strip of smoked fish. Today, of all days! I gripped her jaw in anger, reminding myself not to spoil her ahead of time. Sulpicia must only have perfection.

"How you plague me, sweetness," I sighed, speaking in her language. Her eyes flew up to meet mine then, surprised to hear her tongue spoken for the first time since her captivity. She blushed, mistaking my attentions. She had often wondered why she was receiving special treatment here in her new home, suspecting that I would come for her one of these days. That day had come, though it was not what she thought.

"You will do no more work today," I told her, touching her face more tenderly.

_I knew it!_

I laughed, bringing my hand down as I turned to her companion, who was glaring daggers at the maiden who triumphantly thought she had caught my eye. "Glykeria will be bathed now," I told her abruptly in Greek. "And I want her mouth cleansed, and her nails painted with…" I scanned the garden, striding over to a bush of violets and selecting a petal that seemed right. "This color," I announced, laying the petal in the slave's hand. "You will massage her with her special oil, also her hair. And she must have only candied violets to eat in her bath, and nothing to drink. _No_ flesh," I added, casting a sharp glance back at Glykeria. She blushed again and lowered her eyes, no doubt wondering how I had divined her secret theft. "Bring her back here to me in two hours. Oh, and have her dressed in white silk."

The slave bowed her head, leading Glykeria away. I waited in the gardens, poring over the bushes to select the most perfect spring of violets. It seemed only a moment later when Glykeria returned alone, smelling _much_ better. She was delicately wrapped in white silk, with trailing fringes hanging down to frame her freshly painted nails. Her hair was swept up in a little tower, shimmering with oil.

"Ah, you are perfect!" I proclaimed, walking around her in inspection. I plucked the sprig of violet and carefully nestled it in her hair. "Come with me, sweetness. We must be silent," I added severely, finishing with a teasing smile that made her scent bloom upon her blush. Exquisite! I stood back to admire my handiwork again, feeling my throat burn with appreciation. How I wanted the treat for myself! But alas, such was love: to sacrifice such things on the altar of worship.

I led her silently to the hall adjoining Sulpicia's rooms, tapping on the door behind which I could detect her scent. "Are you within, my darling?" I called lightly.

"Where else would I be?" came the curt reply.

Glykeria stiffened beside me, suddenly unsure of her position. I tightened my grip on her shoulder imperceptibly, slipping my fingers under the folds of her tunic; it was so intriguing how various humans mentally reacted to these abrupt shifts in their circumstances. Glykeria, like most of the slaves in the lower halls, knew nothing of the nature of her masters. "I've brought you a gift!" I called out.

The door opened immediately. _Sulpicia_. She was clad in purple, her golden hair woven in a complex array of braids and shining along its length. She looked every inch a queen, even more so now that she was so often angry with me; the crimson eyes that had once looked on me with worship now flashed with disappointment. The cream of her skin and the symphony of her mind, once both mine to touch as I pleased, formed the same forbidden statue now. How my heart trembled, aching to see her smile return without reservation! How my gift pained me, needing to hear her thoughts! It was a terrible, glorious feeling. _She_ was terrible and glorious.

Her nostrils flared delicately as her darkening eyes caught on the treat I had brought her. I knew that look; she was aching to attack but would refuse to show any interest in my effort. She was a delight! "Well?" she said imperiously.

I grinned, knowing she could not resist. I let Glykeria go and gave her a shove, and she ran down the hall in shrieking fear. Sulpicia pounced, losing herself in the delicacy I had prepared for her. I watched her with adoring eyes as she fed, and when she stood, still angry but greedily finishing the blood that lay on her lips, my heart melted. How could I mar this woman with my tools? Her indignant pride was exquisite! Perhaps it would not need to be done.

"It took me six months to get her to smell like that," I offered.

But she drew closer, and drew her hand back as if to strike me. Instead she composed herself and laid a hand like a claw upon my face to give me the first thought in months: _That is not the gift I seek! You toil ceaselessly, Aro, but what has happened to your promises? You said you would make me a queen, but you have made me a prisoner. I want freedom, from these walls and from you! That is the only gift I seek._

Ah, she did not mean that; we both knew what anger can do to twist the words of women. I closed my eyes and held her hand tight against my cheek, drinking in her mind like a man dying of thirst. But she jerked her hand away.

"You are no prisoner, dearest," I protested. "There is the courtyard, and I will take you anywhere your heart desires."

"Having ten Guards hovering over my every step is not freedom," she replied icily. I smiled sadly at her back as she spun and disappeared back into her rooms. My course was decided, then; I had seen new poisons in her mind that would destroy both of us, if they were allowed to fester.

"Peace, my love," I soothed. "You shall have your freedom soon."

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.

"I don't understand women, Caius," I complained.

I had chosen this day wisely. Sulpicia was sated with her treat, and Caius was enraged as he stormed into the Great Hall. He and Athenodora had been quarrelling again; their fights were much more spectacular than Sulpicia's and mine. Athenodora was wise, but had little restraint over her passions, much like her mate. It would take the slaves weeks to repair the damage to her rooms made today. Perhaps the task should be assigned to the Guards so it could be done more quickly. It was just as well, for we lost another slave as Caius made his way between the archway and his throne. He lashed out in his rage, grabbing the slave and throwing him against the stone wall.

"Nor do I," he snarled, swishing his cloak angrily aside to seat himself. I sighed at his wastefulness, calling for one of our younger Guards to come and feast on the casualty of my brother's rage. Caius looked on as the Guard fed, his anger slowly cooling as we waited for privacy. "I ask so little," he hissed, turning to me as the Guard exited with a bow. "Must she be so infuriatingly _difficult_?!"

"I sympathize, brother," I sighed, and recounted to him my failed offering this morning. Caius enjoyed far greater access to his mate than I did; their passionate natures were not built for the long silences that Sulpicia and I were so skilled at hurting each other with. But he, too, was at his wit's end, and his raw emotion did not allow him to harden his heart the way that I could. And therein lay the key to my success, for I knew Caius as well as he knew himself. I also knew that Athenodora was not really the problem; she was old and wise enough to see that her power had never changed. Sulpicia was the one poisoning her against Caius, out of spite towards me. But this would still need to come from Caius, in order for him to never suspect that Charmion's touch already lay on his own mind.

"It breaks my heart," I continued, dropping my voice to the level of conspiracy; setting the mood is the necessary preface to any role. "I want to see Sulpicia happy again. Yet she asks more than I can give."

"Exactly!" he whispered back, his eyes pained. "I am no monster. I would give Athena the world- I _have_ given her the world, and yet she is not content! All I ask is that she let me keep her safe, that I bring the world to _her_…"

"The world!" I sighed. "What good is the world in our hands if we cannot bring peace to our own household? Is this our doom, to conquer in power, only to wither within? To bring our order to a world of chaos, when we cannot bring happiness home?"

Caius' fist tightened upon his throne, crumbling the marble to dust.

"What are we to do, brother?" I asked mournfully.

We sat in silence as it slowly dawned upon Caius' dull mind. He looked guilty, and then doubtful; I itched to touch his hand, to make sure his thoughts were heading in the direction I had steered them, but it would not do, not right now.

"There is Charmion," he said at last.

.

.

.

I had not intended for Sulpicia to be aware of Charmion's intervention. I tried using the same subtle influence that instantly worked with Athendodora; her loyalty to Caius had never really faltered, and she need but a little nudge to calm her protests. But the Fates would have their way in this; I would have to suffer in order to achieve this particular miracle. But I was willing, and the miracle itself should make the suffering brief.

Once I made up my mind, there was no point in hiding what I was doing. Charmion filed into Sulpicia's rooms right behind me, and my beloved saw her fate an instant before it began. She turned to attack Charmion, and I held her fast.

_There was no need!_ she thought wildly. _I would never have betrayed you!_

"I know," I said softly, shifting my grip so as not to hurt her as she struggled against me. "Hurry," I snapped to Charmion.

But it took a full day and night for her will to die. I wept as I held her, begging her forgiveness even as she screamed at me, cursed me, clawed at me. Her mind was strong, so very strong, and it was the greatest tragedy of my existence to watch her glorious pride soften and weaken as Charmion exhausted herself in her effort. I ordered her to keep her hand on my arm as I held Sulpicia, so that I could monitor her progress. Again and again I shouted for her to increase her influence, far past the point where I had planned to go. Caius came in once to see my progress, his face twisted in disgust and pity. Finally my beloved sagged in my arms in defeat, and the worst was over.

I dismissed Charmion, waiting in fearful silence as Sulpicia stirred in my arms, her thoughts blurring as if waking from a great sleep. Had I utterly destroyed her mind?! Had I ruined myself, in the end? But she blinked and looked up at me, and wonder filled her eyes. I smiled hesitantly in return, watching as her mind settled into its new form.

"Are you well, my darling?" I whispered.

"Yes," she breathed. I saw in her mind that she was about to call me Master, but I was quick to prevent it; I did not need to be reminded of what I had just done.

"Just Aro, love," I said gently. She smiled and rested in my arms, watching me in awe as if she had stepped into a new world. Her worship was even more pure than it had been on that first night in the garden. I knew that she would do anything I asked now, and gladly. She would never again question me, never again tire of her confinement, never again look at me in hurt and disappointment. I traced her brow, framing the soft red eyes that waited for me to give them life. I had done it; I had sculpted my beloved like I had sculpted the rest of my destiny. I had gambled, pressing too hard with my tools and fearing to fracture the marble of her mind. And I had fractured it indeed, finally clearing away the rubble to reveal the woman I had thought I wanted in the first place.

I had cleared away too much. I had fractured her beyond repair. I leaned back, surveying my marred creation with sadness. I heard the laughter of the Fates in my ears.

"Anything, Aro," she whispered, leaning closer. "Anything you wish."

I joined with her, mind and body, but it was not like before. I left her then, standing in the doorway and staring after me with longing. She had so little will left of her own that she would not cross the threshold until I asked her to.

I sat alone in the Great Hall that night, staring at the dried blood on the floor and reeling at my loss. But I would not lose heart; I would keep searching until I found other powers with which to rebuild the woman I had destroyed. Until then, I would accept her pathetic worship and continue with my task, taming the world before me until it was a glittering paradise, fit for my beloved to enjoy when she returned to me. And she would; I had no doubt of that. This was the greatest hardship I had ever endured, and that meant that an even greater opportunity was still to come.

* * *

**And thus the romance of Pygmalion became the tragedy of Midas. I hope you enjoyed this weird little jaunt into Aro's brain! It was a fun ride, though I think I may need to bleach my keyboard after writing it.**

**I probably won't be able to update again before the New Year, as we're in the process of moving. I wish everyone a joyful Christmas and Happy New Year 2016!**


	23. 1918: Edward Cullen (1 of 2)

**You guys, I am SO EXCITED to finally write something in 1918. Thank you to everyone who requested this scene- it was a pleasure to write! I still don't know if I'll ever take on the daunting project of writing a _Tale of Years: 1918_, but here is Carlisle's version. This first half covers his deliberation and Edward's transformation, and the second half will cover Edward's awakening and first hunt, and then an epilogue-y sort of thing set a few weeks later. (EdwardsMate4Ever, I'm reimagining your outtake request for the epilogue-y thing)**

* * *

**Early November 1918**

**Chicago**

**Carlisle POV**

I had stood alone in this parlor many times. When I tired of re-reading my books and it hadn't yet been long enough to make an appearance at the hospital, and the weather was poor… I would just stand here, alone, waiting for the hours to pass. But I was no longer alone, because I had done it.

God help me, _I had actually done it._

For decades – centuries, even- I had been preparing myself for this day. Debating with myself, chiding myself, horrified at myself, pitying myself, challenging myself… and when I felt bold enough, turning my eyes toward Heaven and asking for a sign. But I had made my choice at long last. A raging epidemic, a mother's plea, a face that shone with goodness and promise, and my own desperate hope had all fallen together in one unexpected opportunity, and the time had come.

The young man lying on my couch was Edward Masen, age seventeen. I had first cared for his father earlier in the week, though scarcely long enough to pronounce him dead: yet another hardworking citizen of Chicago, suddenly fallen in the city's battle against the Spanish Influenza. Edward and his mother were not far behind. There was little we could do for them; it was still unclear what caused this strain of influenza, and the symptoms were unpredictable. I ordered atropine capsules and aspirin and the application of Vick's for both of them, and managed to find them a private room to share. The nursing staff would be able to help more than I would, soothing their fevers and discomfort in the ways that mothers have known for centuries.

Edward's prognosis was already poor upon my first examination. He was barely conscious upon his admission, his fever raging and his history of asthma a strike against him. The mother's case was more promising at first, but she had driven herself too far in caring for her son. Time after time the nurses firmly tucked her back under her own covers, and time after time they found her seated at her son's side, whispering a breathless lullaby and coaxing a few drops of water into his mouth, or cleaning the sweat from his brow, or just holding his hand as she sat wheezing on the edge of his cot. It was a touching picture; I regretted leaving them to die while I stayed uselessly at home pretending to sleep, but I had learned that working more than twenty-four hours in a row was bound to draw attention.

By the time I returned for my next shift, she had been tucked in for the last time. Even then, she spoke from her fevered dreams; she spoke of her son, what a good boy he was, the best that had ever been. She finally wept for him, but was too dehydrated to produce tears. I was touched by her sacrifice, and even more touched to see that young Edward was now using his own last hours to comfort his mother. I was surprised that he was still alive at all; his mother's sacrifice had not been in vain.

I lingered after my shift ended, ensconced in the shadows of the shared room. I watched as Edward tried, without success, to rise and go to his mother. I would have helped him do so, but she had begun her final rest; sleep was the kindest treatment I could give her now. Edward was also fading quickly, even more so because he, like his mother, was too stubbornly devoted to allow himself rest. He called out to her, sang to her even, until his voice finally gave out. His sanity wandered more with every passing hour; his mouthed babbling and prayers became confused, when they were not obscured altogether by fits of coughing and wheezing. I ordered pots of boiled water brought in to humidify the air, but even such primitive remedies were scarce by now. Finally he lay still, his respirations small and weak, his hand stretched out toward his mother even after his eyes had closed. He awoke soon after that to cough, but he never spoke again. His fever burned on and his lungs filled with fluid. His next bout of coughing was weaker. His sweating had ceased despite the fever which continued to climb even higher. All hope was nearly lost for him.

All hope except my own.

I saw my chance clearly: in the pandemonium of the epidemic it would not be difficult to remove him without suspicion. And he would be without family; no one to leave behind, and no one to report his disappearance. Was this really the day I had anticipated for so long? The day I had feared? My heart swelled with possibility. There had been a few other chances, in recent years, but something had always stopped me. A feeling that it wasn't time, that I wasn't ready, that I could not bring myself to inflict the same torment I had undergone on another. But there was something about this young man… something bright. The fading innocence of youth? Or the dawning goodness of a young man who would give of himself until the end? He had just done so. Would that trait be strong enough to survive next to the dangerous nature I was capable of instilling in him?

And then, so late as to be miraculous, Elizabeth Masen woke one final time. Her green eyes, bright with fever and the nearing light of Paradise, slowly searched through the room. They rested on her son, who was mercifully asleep for the moment. Then she looked straight at me. How she saw me so far away in the shadows, and with her illness, I could not fathom.

"Doctor." The word was so faint, I could have imagined it. But she stirred, licking her dry lips to try again. She coughed weakly.

"Please rest, Mrs. Masen," I protested, drawing nearer, but the weakness in her eyes suddenly blazed with defiance.

"Save him," she demanded. I did not need to ask whom she meant.

"I'll do everything in my power," I promised her, taking her burning hand. It was a platitude I had offered to families so many times before; it had been a bitter lie, every time. I had never before done _everything_ in my power to save a life.

Would I do it tonight? I stole another glance at young Edward. His advanced infection was a stench in my nostrils, and even from where I stood I could hear the gurgling effort of his quick, shallow respiration. His pulse was rapid and irregular, evidence of its struggle against his failing lungs. I was running out of time. I had grown accustomed to spending years of study and debate over the simplest decision, but now I had no time. He would certainly not survive the night. Must I decide so quickly, then?

"You must," his mother answered clearly. A strange feeling rose in my chest at the coincidence of her answer, and at the sudden strength in her hand as she pressed mine. Her gaze was so clear, it seemed to pierce my mind. "You must do everything in _your_ power. What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward."

I pulled my hand from hers, suddenly afraid. She knew! How could she possibly know? I stepped back, my dilemma momentarily forgotten in my shock. But the strength that had roused her to speak was already passing; her eyes drifted closed again. I stood staring at her, frozen in wariness and confusion. Was this the sign I had been seeking? My eyes tore away from her to her son again, and the weight of my decision pressed upon me; I held this young man's future in my hands. If I did nothing, it was very likely he would soon be reunited with his parents, at peace forever in Heaven. Was it wrong to take that from him, or was it wrong to deny the conviction I felt more with every passing moment?

It seemed only seconds later that Elizabeth Masen breathed her last. The new quiet in the room, broken now only by Edward's pitiful breathing and heartbeats, made me bolder. I moved hesitantly to his bedside now, looking again at his face. It could hardly be said that he looked at peace; a thin layer of dried sweat lay upon him and even in sleep, his brow was furrowed in pain… or fear, perhaps. His lips were dry and cracked. He hadn't yet developed a full beard, but three or so days' worth of fuzz had grown on his lip and chin, and traced the beginnings of the sideburns that his father had worn so well. His hair, so like his mother's, was a tangled mess on his pillow, some of it plastered to his forehead with dried sweat. But even in his disarray, the goodness on his face shone as if his mother's passing had spilled some of Heaven's light onto him as she moved out of this world. Remembering the piercing clarity of her eyes, I could almost believe she had done it on purpose.

Had she realized what she was asking of me?

Without thought I reached down and smoothed the hair away from his face, as his mother had no doubt done earlier today. He did not stir at my touch, but the furrow between his brows relaxed away. And was it my imagination, or did his pulse relax a bit as well? I had certainly comforted young patients like this before, but this time awakened something new in my heart. Perhaps it was the touching devotion I had seen earlier between Edward and his mother, or perhaps my heart was vulnerable after the shock of her insight. Perhaps it was the tremulous humility I felt at facing the decision that needed to be quickly made. Perhaps it was my loneliness, its ache brought to bear as I considered its cure. But whatever the reason, the thought formed itself effortlessly: _this is the kind of son I would have wanted to have._

My hand lingered on Edward's brow as I mulled over this new possibility. I had never, in all my ruminations on the subject, considered that I might someday have a _son_. It was too much to hope for; I had, until now, been optimistic enough to believe that if I made the right choice, I had a very good chance that my creation would choose the path I had chosen: that my saving a life would not mean an end to countless other lives. I had even dared to hope that he might choose to remain with me, a friend to ease the solitude of this strange life. _Or she_, I admitted silently, remembering a smiling girl in Columbus with caramel-colored hair and a restless vitality. But I swept that familiar memory away; now was not the time. And I should not let myself get carried away with what might be, or what might have been; now was the time to decide.

My hand flinched away as Edward's face grew suddenly paler. The skin around his mouth took on a blue tinge and he struggled to cough again, but he could only manage a gasp. Was I too late already?! I rolled him on his side, fearfully unsure whether percussion at this late stage would be helpful or harmful. My eyes darted to the soft skin of his throat, and my venom finally began to flow as I briefly considering the horrible possibility of biting him here- but that would be most unwise. What if he should cry out? What if I should lose control, here in a _hospital_ of all places? The crisis passed a moment later, but his vital signs were deteriorating quickly now. I laid my hand on his ribs, noting their pitifully small expansion as his breaths leaked through where they could. How many did he have left? I could no longer delay. But if I was to act, how would I actually go about it? How would I get him out? The prospect suddenly seemed more difficult than I had originally thought. I stepped out into the hallway briefly, dismayed to find the night staff bustling about. One nurse brushed right past me, wheeling a gurney. The sheet, pulled over the face of her patient, was enough to tell me her destination.

The morgue… yes. I had a much better chance of escaping detection if I took that route. I ducked back into the room and wheeled Mrs. Masen out, casting a fearful glance back at Edward and sending up a prayer that he would not die before I could return.. before I could decide. I followed the other gurney down to the morgue, my agitation growing as the moments passed. The possibility of having already failed grew my conviction to the breaking point. Was I really going to do this?

Finally the nurse deposited her charge, filled out the first portion of the death certificate, and left it, pen ready for the attending physician, right on her patient's sheet-covered abdomen.

"Doctor," she said distractedly as she brushed past me on her way out. I nodded, silently praying she would not call me to any new duty. Not tonight. As soon as she closed the door, I grabbed a death certificate off the waiting stack and filled it out for Elizabeth Masen while my eyes darted around the room. I was alone, with only the dead for witnesses to the crime I was about to commit. The window at the far end of the room, which opened to the street level in the alley behind the hospital, seemed to be calling to me. As if in confirmation of the decision I was finally daring to make, there was a flash of lightning outside the window to remind me that it was the middle of the night, and storming as well. The streets would be a mess of sleet and slush, and there was still plenty of darkness left. The chances of being seen were practically non-existent. And yet, there was One who would See.

_God, am I really going to do this? Is it time? _

I signed the death certificate with an absent-minded flourish, slapping it onto the overflowing tray on my way back out the door. I rushed back to Edward's room with all the speed I dared, relieved to hear his struggling heartbeat as I neared the door. I spared one last glance over to the now unoccupied side of the room, and Elizabeth Masen's words seemed to echo in the empty space. In my head.

_This is what you must do._

It was enough.

In one fluid motion, I turned and flicked Edward's top sheet over his head, careful to leave room for ventilation. I pushed the gurney out into the hallway, keeping my head down as the journey to the morgue stretched out before me. Edward's breathing hitched to a stop as he was jolted over the rough transition to the cement floor of the east wing. I panicked for a moment, but did not dare to lift the sheet or even stop; a nurse was walking the opposite way. _Breathe,_ I screamed inside my head, nodding and smiling tiredly to the nurse as I passed her. _Please, not now! Breathe, Edward!_ His pulse went on, though, and before another two seconds had passed he was breathing again, even weaker than before.

I reached the morgue at last, after what felt like an eternity. I closed the door behind me, my hand drifting toward the fresh stack of death certificates. But there was no time; I already heard footsteps on the cement floor of the hall behind me, their warning growing quickly closer. I scooped Edward up and leapt over the row of corpses that laid between the door and the window. By the time the door opened behind me, I was already in the alley with Edward safely clutched to my chest. I realized too late that I should have brought a blanket; the sleet and wind were merciless against his thin hospital gown and bare legs and feet. He was too far gone to even shiver at the cold. I adjusted my hold to cover more of his skin with my lab coat.

I ran as long as I dared, and then I took to the rooftops. It was a risk, jolting him again with even the gentlest of landings, but this would be much faster. I felt his heart, weak as it was, pounding against my chest as I ran. _Hurry. Hurry,_ it seemed to say. I ran faster, all at once realizing that the decision had been the easy part. One of the reasons I had delayed so many years was that I feared the ultimate failure: to end the very life I intended to save. But time for fear was mercifully short. My house, lonely on a densely forested hill outside the city, loomed ahead. In an instant I was in the parlor, gently laying Edward down on the couch and kneeling on the rug beside him. My hands trembled as I tilted his chin up and away. For the slightest portion of a second, I froze as I recalled my own torment; all my years of mental preparation had not lessened the horror of what I was about to inflict.

"Forgive me," I breathed, even as the venom began to flow and I bared my teeth. Was it a prayer, or a plea to Edward himself? My eyes trained on his external carotid artery, but that was too dangerous; he was weak enough without the blood loss that would cause. _But it would taste better_, a dark voice whispered from deep inside me. I recoiled in horror again, this time at the reawakening of a temptation I had long since defeated. But further delay would only increase the danger. I leaned in and bit, gently incising the external jugular vein. And for the first time, after two hundred and fifty five years of denying myself, human blood crossed my lips.

It was _glorious_.

I failed the test even as I passed it. My jaws opened wider of their own accord and my reason began to evaporate as I bit deeper. I had no idea how much I drank; only that a moment later I was crouched with my back against the far wall, shivering in delight and horror all at once and scraping the sleeve of my lab coat across my mouth, lest I swallow even more. _What have I done?!_ Edward lay unmoved where I had left him, but now a pulsing trickle of blood was running down the side of his neck onto the couch. I crawled back to his side, trembling as I held back a terrible desire to grab his throat to my teeth again. Had any venom entered his bloodstream at all? I peered closer, relieved to see the telltale glimmer of silver dotted across the wound. Was it enough? Would it work? Had I taken too much blood? His arrhythmia didn't seem to have worsened… Oh, _why_ hadn't I taken Aro up on his offer to observe a transformation when I had the chance?!

My hand crept up to my own throat, tracing the invisible scar there. I decided it would be best to imitate, exactly, the bites I myself had received; it was an unspeakable torture, but the only example I had. At least Edward didn't appear to feel any of it; that was a mercy. I bit again and again, finding the temptation less each time, though only slightly. I did not drink again, though I lingered over each bite to pass on more venom.

Edward never moved.

I finally sat back on my heels, watching him intently for any sign, and refusing to even acknowledge the blaring thirst that threatened to drown my reason again. It had been not been this difficult since the beginning… but it would not do to dwell on that memory, or anything like that, just now. I forced all my attention on the wound at his neck, ashamed to see its extent, but determined to focus on the medical aspects of what I observed. The blood flow was certainly less than a few moments ago; whether that was due to the healing properties of my venom at the site itself, or the depletion of Edward's blood supply, I could not tell. Since the flow continued to lessen without further detriment to his rhythm, I thought it must be the former.

The grandfather clock in the hall seemed to grow louder as I waited. I found solace in its unwavering, inorganic _tick-tock_, and let its rhythm anchor me, instead of that of Edward's beckoning pulse. I waited some more; the other wounds were now closed, sealed as if they had been cauterized. The wound at his neck was the only one that was bleeding now. I watched in fascination as it, too, slowly narrowed and finally sealed. I estimated that he had lost nearly half a liter of blood to the now-soaked cushions of my couch; I shuddered to think how much more was in me. I certainly felt the burning change in my eyes, but I would not stand up to look in the mirror now; Edward needed me. Or rather, I needed him. I need him to move, or speak, or even scream- anything that would give me a sign of my success. His heart seemed no stronger or weaker than before; his breathing, so sensitive to the rough journey over the rooftops of Chicago, hadn't missed a beat even when my teeth had torn into his throat.

_Come on, Edward,_ I pleaded silently. _Give me a sign._

Another ten minutes passed. And then I heard, or thought I heard, the subtlest shift in his arrhythmia: inching toward normalcy, I thought hopefully. A minute later, it slowed again; was that good or bad? Despite my effort to think in clinical terms, my eyes were fixed on Edward's face now. All my medical training faded away and I simply stared, full of hope and fear. Had I done it right? Had I drunk too much? Had I given him enough venom? Too much? And, as my hope for his survival began to grow: what would he say when he awoke? Would he be violent? What would he think of my unorthodox rescue? Would he agree to stay with me? Would he be happy?

The clock in the hall chimed the hour: eight o'clock. The sun was rising, and my hope rose with it. Edward's breathing was beginning to slow, and his pulse soon settled, to my immense relief, into sinus rhythm. He was going to make it.

_He's going to live!_

I finally smiled in wonder, still watching Edward's face. His brow, long since slack, twitched slightly. The furrow reappeared. But before I could reach over to smooth it away, everything went wrong.

He shivered once, then again, and then his mouth opened as he suddenly exploded into a massive coughing fit. Blood and sputum and venom welled up out of his mouth, and his heart rate doubled instantly. I cried out in alarm and wrenched him onto his side just as be began to retch and cough everything out onto the rug. He gasped and coughed and vomited in such quick succession, I was certain he would drown; even venom could not save him from that. If anything, the venom would be the very thing that killed him, healing his breathing passages just enough to occlude completely as they attempted to empty themselves.

_NO! Not now!_

Edward's eyes flew open, wide in terror. He stiffened in my arms, his face growing suddenly purple as he retched again, coughing even further past the end of his breath. He gasped, but just in time for it to start again. I held him as tightly as I dared, afraid to intervene and destroy the frantic rhythm that his body seemed to have latched onto in its frantic attempt to regain control of its functions. "It's all right," I soothed, falling back on the lies that we physicians are so skilled at speaking. "It'll feel better in a moment. It'll stop, in just a minute, and you'll be able to breathe more easily…" I smeared his hair, now soaked with new sweat, back away from his face. He went suddenly limp in my arms again and I feared the worst; but it seemed his body's strange attempt at healing had worked. His breathing was much deeper now, his chest rising and falling with a reassuring strength. There was still a significant wheeze, but it quickly began to diminish. I gently laid him back up on the couch, darting out to the powder room to grab a towel to clean him with.

Should I give him some water? I took the new sweat as a good sign, but surely his body was struggling to produce even that much; he had already been dehydrated before I had taken him. I found a cup in my kitchen, dusty from never having been used. I sat him up slightly and succeeded in getting him to reflexively swallow some water, though not as much as I would have liked. Was his body already beginning to reject it? I didn't want to risk setting off another round of coughing or choking. Should I try some kind of broth instead, to build his strength against what he was about to endure? But my kitchen was poorly stocked, really only some dry goods for show in the rare case of a neighbor or coworker stopping by. I had no meat or vegetables with which to make anything useful.

In the end, I laid him back down and let him be; the venom would have to do its work alone. He was beginning to twitch again. His brow was furrowed with what looked like pain, though all his other muscles were slack. If all went well, he would unfortunately soon be well enough to fully experience the pain of his transformation; I decided to make use of this quieter time to telephone the hospital.

"I'll be back in just a moment, Edward," I promised him, rising to go use the telephone in the hall. I suddenly felt awkward, wondering if he could understand me at this point; there was really no way to tell what degree of brain damage the fever had caused, or if any of it had yet been repaired. Surely it _would_ be repaired? I knew so little of these matters. Doubt assailed me again, but I supposed it was of little use now. I reached out and patted him on the head, unsure what sort of comfort would be best if he was already hurting now. "Just a moment," I murmured absently, darting out into the hall.

My fingers paused on the receiver. What would I say to explain my absence, and Edward's? I would not be able to return to work for the foreseeable future. It seemed best to use the excuse that was most readily available: the very influenza that had brought Edward into my life. But what about Edward himself? The fact that I would be unable to produce his body was most problematic. The easiest solution was for his case to be lost in the mayhem, but I should not count on that. Perhaps… a new plan formed and I finally picked up the receiver.

"Chicago 9277M, please."

I glanced back toward the parlor as the operator made the connection. I could not see into the room, no matter how I taut stretched the telephone line. Edward's heart rate was beginning to rise again, as were his respirations. A response to the pain he was more able to feel, as his mind healed? Or a new danger? He was so frail, whereas I had been strong and healthy during my torment. Success was still not guaranteed. I should not leave him alone, not this early… but the hospital operator came on, and I was soon connected to my boss. I turned my attention back to the telephone and to the new role I would need to play.

"Donald?" I began, peppering my voice with fatigue and a slight rasp. "It's Carlisle. I'm terribly sorry about this, but…" I added a delicate cough, muffled against my shoulder. "I'm not going to make my shift tonight."

"Carlisle? You don't sound well at all. Do you have a fever?"

"Only a slight one," I sighed. "I'm sure it'll pass… I think I just overdid it this week with the double shifts."

"I _told_ you to take it easy," Donald said, sounding genuinely concerned. "Listen, I'm getting off at seven, I'll stop by your place and-"

"That won't be necessary," I interrupted, instantly realizing my mistake. The past few weeks had been difficult at the hospital; long hours and heartbreaking cases had brought our team together in a way that was unusual. Donald _would_ be concerned about me, as a friend would, if he thought I had come down with the illness that had killed so many of our patients. I could not risk his interference, not now. "You know how it is," I continued anxiously, attempting to sound tired, but not terribly ill. "We doctors make poor patients."

"At least come in and let us have a look at you. You of all people should know-"

"I know," I interrupted again. "But I truly don't think that's what it is. The symptoms aren't the same, and I really think I just overdid it. I-" My head turned as a weak moan came from the parlor. I clenched the receiver harder, casting about for an excuse that would keep him away from the house. "I promise that if things do begin to look that way, I'll have someone take a look at me. Anyway, I'm heading out of town for the weekend."

"I thought you were going to get some rest!"

"I am," I assured him, looking anxiously toward the parlor again. "But my mother telephoned and she's not feeling well herself. Her doctor doesn't think she has it either, but I'd feel better if I had a look myself."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Carlisle… I hope she pulls through."

"I'm sure she will. She'll probably be up and making me a pot of her famous chicken soup when I arrive. In fact, I suspect it may be a plot just to force me into taking a holiday."

"Take it, then," Donald said gruffly. "Take all the time you need, and I mean that, Carlisle. You're the finest young physician that's come through here in a long time."

"Thank you," I said warmly, my gratitude genuine. I was ashamed of the lies, for even with my double shifts, we had already been stretched too thin. Patient care was going to suffer in my absence, and more lives would almost certainly be lost. But Edward had to come first- from now on, he would always come first. I felt uneasy at the compromise, but I consoled myself with the thought that other physicians would do the same if their child was ill and needed care at home. "And, Donald… I really am sorry about this. I know the timing is terrible."

"Don't give it another thought," he replied kindly. "Just give me a call in a couple days and let me know how you're doing."

"I will."

"Oh, and one other matter. One of your patients, Edward Masen…"

I sighed, pressing my lips together in frustration; of course it would not be as simple as I hoped. "Yes?"

"Did he pass on last night? The nurses assumed so, considering how he was doing yesterday, but it looks like you never checked him into the morgue."

I drew a calming breath, ready to try my plan. "Oh, I'm sorry about that- I was so tired when I wrapped up this morning I must not have submitted the paperwork for his discharge."

"Discharge?!" Donald echoed in surprise. "I've heard that you can work miracles, Carlisle, but-"

"If only that were true," I sighed, hoping my anxiety was not as obvious as it sounded to my own ears. "He did show some surprising improvement early this morning, though it's still touch and go. No, his uncle came to collect him; he'll be taking over the boy's custody until his eighteenth birthday next June. If he makes it, God willing."

"Well, that was unwise," Donald harrumphed. "Improved or not, I hardly think moving him is going to do anything except expose him to the elements unnecessarily. Strange, I don't remember an uncle being mentioned… where are they headed?"

"I think it was the hospital in Springfield, near the uncle's home… though I can't recall the details at the moment. I'm sorry again about the paperwork, I'll get right to it when I come back in."

"That'll be fine. Lord knows keeping up with the paperwork is the last thing on our minds just now. What a mess…"

"I know. And again-"

"If you apologize one more time, Carlisle, I'm going to come over there and give you a sedative myself!"

"Point taken," I laughed, remembering at the last moment to add another cough. "I'll give you a call over the weekend, Donald." We hung up and I dashed back into the parlor, to find Edward's head hanging uncomfortably off the edge of the couch cushion. I tugged him gently back up and looked over him again; not much change other than the moan I had heard earlier, and the sealed wound on his neck looked to be fading slightly. I sat and stared, barely noticing as the sun rose further into the sky.

Edward's pain seemed to finally worsen around noon. He began to moan again, stirring weakly against the cushioned back of the couch.

"I'm sorry about this," I told him, laying my hand on his. It was already beginning to cool; still a bit feverish, but that would soon change. I touched my hand to his forehead to confirm the extent of the fever, but let my hand linger, gently smoothing his tangled hair again. The motion seemed to soothe him.

"Mother," he said weakly, and my whole world suddenly shifted. A new ache arose in my chest unexpectedly: it seemed that my dead heart stirred and grew to envelop young Edward, binding him to me forever. But it also felt painful, as if a part of me had been torn away and now lay, feverish and weak, on the couch. I had once had a woman tell me, as her son lay ill in my care, that I would never know the feeling of my heart being _outside_ my body until I had a child of my own. It seemed she was right. This ache was foreign to me; I wanted to sweep the boy up in my arms and protect him from his grief, his pain, from everything. But his pain was only beginning, and I was the one who had inflicted it. I would bear it for him, if I could.

I thought, with a tightening of my throat, of other kinds of suffering I was condemning him to. A life of relative isolation- though he would never be alone the way that I was. The pain of thirst, especially in his first years. His grief at his parents' loss, I hoped, would be muted. But he had been on his way to join them- what would he think of my interference in that? I had the consolation of having answered his mother's plea, and of saving a life that was being unfairly cut short; but would he see it that way? What of his other losses? Did he have a sweetheart? What had his family's plans been for Christmas this year? What of his friends… his plans for the future? Had he been planning to attend college next fall, or perhaps serve his country in the War? This young man was not just his mother's son; Edward Masen was a person, with hopes and dreams of his own. _Edward Cullen_, I thought cautiously. _My son, Edward Cullen. _I peered at his beautiful face again, memorizing every detail, wishing I knew more about him. What did I know of being a father?

I should not let myself hope. There was every possibility that Edward would despise me for what I had done. I would need to prepare myself to let him go, in that case, as soon as it was safe. But could I hope, at the very least, that he would stay, as a friend? Or perhaps that he would go his own way, but agree to part on kind terms, possibly to meet occasionally or travel together at times. Perhaps I was being too optimistic, but when I remembered the generosity and goodness I had seen on his face- that I still saw- I could not imagine this young man turning against me with true enmity. I supposed it was possible, considering the volatility of the nature my venom was grafting onto him. But I hoped not, and my heart ached with a new love as I dared hope for even more. There was so much I could teach him, show him, give him. But even as I hoped and watched , I felt a new strength grow with that new love: the same strength I had seen in Edward and his mother in their final hours. Though I had first begun to allow myself the possibility of creating one such as Edward out of a place of selfish loneliness, I now found I had the courage for more than that.

_Love does not seek its own._

Edward would need my guidance, but I would let him choose, in this. Whatever place in his life he offered me- even if it be one of distance, enforced by his hatred- I would be content.

_But God, please, let it be more. Let him see me as a friend… let him trust me, if nothing else._

I drifted into prayer for a time, seeking wisdom for myself and comfort for Edward in his torment. His twitching had turned to restless stirring now. His face was frozen in a permanent grimace. His breath soon began to come in short, pain-filled gasps between his clenched teeth. He seemed to be trying not to scream. My heart ached for him anew, and with a sense of kinship this time, as I recalled my own transformation. I, too, had remained silent, fearing that I would give myself away. There were those, my own father included, that would destroy such an abomination were they to find me in my weakness during the transition.

"It's all right," I assured Edward. "I know it hurts, and I'm so sorry. You don't need to be silent- you're safe here. I'll keep you safe." _I will always keep you safe._

He continued to suffer in silence, holding himself rigid now. My pity aside, I admired his self-control, unnecessary as it was; that boded well for the future. But finally his youth betrayed him, and he cried out, suddenly thrashing against the cushions. His grimace turned into an expression of confused terror. He screamed again, writhing so hard that I had to catch him from falling. I was surprised at the strength in his arms as he fought me, but I easily subdued him. He struggled for another moment, his eyes opened now but darting blankly around.

"Father! Help!" he cried this time, and began to cry, burying his face in my shoulder. I thought my heart would break.

"I'm sorry, Edward," I moaned. "I'm so, so sorry. It will end, I promise. The pain will not last forever. Edward?"

I had thought, for just a moment, that he understood me. His weeping suddenly stalled, only to turn to screaming again. I soon lost count of how many times the clock chimed, or the course of the sun as the day passed. Soon it was night again, but Edward's torment only grew worse. He was growing stronger, though his movements were random and uncoordinated. He gave me another scare in the early morning hours, enduring what seemed to be a series of seizures. I had no memory of such a thing being part of my own transformation, and I had no idea what I should do to help; I could only look on in pity as his body jerked and spasmed. I heard a bone snap during the worst of the seizures, but despite my careful search, I could not locate the injury.

The second day was worse, far worse. Edward's eyes were open and wide with terror nearly the whole time, and twice I was sure he was looking straight at me. _You did this to me!_ his eyes seemed to say just before the screaming took him again. My hope for his friendship began to falter, as did my composure. I could hardly bear to watch him suffer. I spoke what comfort I could, I apologized, I made promises, I tried to explain what was happening to him- nothing seemed to help. At one point I felt such despair that I could only weep with him.

"I'm sorry, Edward, I'm so very sorry… please forgive me…"

He was strong by the time the sun set again, nearly as strong as I was. I could barely keep him on the couch now- though it hardly mattered, for his thrashing was now so strong that he had broken clean through the wooded frame in several places. His fingers had already torn parts of the cushions to shreds.

"Soon," I promised him. "It will begin to go away soon, I promise. A little longer, and it will begin to go away." His answer was a spasm that send his hand crashing into my face, knocking me off the edge of the couch. I scrambled back to his side just in time to catch him from falling again.

He grew hoarse and exhausted in the late afternoon, simply trembling and whimpering as he lay still. I was grateful for the respite. I dared to leave him alone for a few moments, rushing upstairs to gather a change of clothes for each of us. I also stopped by the powder room on my way back to the parlor, grateful that I had kept the shaving kit given to me as a Christmas gift at work a few years back. I had thought it a nice touch in case a guest should see it someday; now I finally had a use for it. As I turned to exit the powder room, I finally braced myself to look in the mirror, afraid of what my eyes might look like.

Still golden.

They were dark, certainly; I still felt a burning level of thirst that I had not known in over a century. And there was just a hint of red hue deepening the gold, but I was flooded with relief; I had not drunk nearly as much as I feared. And the test was passed; I need never face it again. A quiet protest threatened to pull at my heart, bringing with it the familiar memory of the girl in Columbus. I forced myself to let it go, yet again, focusing on my reflection in the mirror. Edward needed me. If all went as I hoped, I would no longer have the luxury of getting lost in thought like this for hours or even days at a time, at least not at home. I would no longer need to, because I would have someone to talk to. I wondered again what interests Edward might have. Perhaps a particular sport? Did he enjoy building models? I wondered if he liked to read…

_You're doing it again_, I told my reflection sternly. _No more getting lost in your head._ I finally saw the dried trickle of blood that lay upon the corner of my lips; now that was a sight I hadn't seen in quite a while. I cleaned it away, ashamed at how the sight of Edward's blood stirred my thirst again. For one fraction of a second I recalled the exquisite taste with longing, but dashed the thought angrily away as I stepped back into the parlor. I was disappointed to see that my self-control was not quite what I had thought, but I supposed this was an extreme circumstance. In any case, Edward was safe now, at least in that way. His scent had already changed; though the stench of his illness still clung to his gown and skin, he himself now smelled of lilac and honey and sunshine. The lilac and sunshine reminded me of his mother somewhat, but it had all been muddled before, what with their illness. The element of honey was certainly new.

I set the clothes aside for later and fetched a bowl of warm water and soap. It was surprisingly difficult to cut through the youthful stubble on his upper lip and chin; it was good I had not waited until the end for this. I myself had been cleanshaven upon my demise, and had never thought to alter my own hair in any way, or considered what change the venom must have wrought to keep it looking healthy for this many years.

I was not quite finished when Edward began to thrash again, though his voice was still too spent to resume screaming. My hand slipped and I uttered another apology for cutting him, but it was the razor that had been damaged, not his skin. I was unsure whether he would prefer to keep the sideburns, so I left them. I quickly toweled off his face, deciding to worry about the clothes later. I hated leaving him in the hospital gown, for it was stained and torn and foul-smelling, but I remembered my own paralysis near the end and decided that would be a better time.

Edward's screams were picking up in volume again, but they sounded different now. His voice was growing in power, tinged with an inhuman quality that bordered on an unsettling screeching sound. His skin was growing paler and his eyes were beginning to change color. I looked closer with interest, surprised to see the emerald green of his irises streaked with red; I had expected the change to be more diffuse. It was sad to see him begin to lose the green; I had never seen him healthy, but I thought he must have been a very handsome lad, particularly with such a unique eye color. I wondered what his smile looked like. His beauty was more ethereal now, the pallor first brought on by illness and now deepend as his body changed.

I stood back in wonder, taking in all the miniscule changes that I had been missing while I had lost myself in thought or in comforting him. It was astonishing to observe the restorative effects of the venom, as well as the other changes. Even beneath the crumpled fabric of the gown, I could see that his muscular definition had already begun to alter. The boyish softness of his features was disappearing, giving way to a chiseled perfection that made him look slightly older. There were two old scars, besides my own bites, that I had noticed earlier, that were now gone. The bites on his arms and ankles had vanished completely, and the one on his throat was smaller and fainter. I watched in wonder as the miracles continued- and to think that my venom was the invisible artist! It was a humbling thought, that the very essence of my darkest nature was the medium through which such healing and beauty were achieved.

_Amazing!_

Edward was growing weaker now; the end was approaching. I tried to recall every detail of my own last hours, and every anecdote that Aro had shared as well; this was the time where Edward would begin to feel a coolness in his extremities. And while I had had no sense of time during my own torment, I remembered being more aware of sounds at this later point.

"Do you feel that, Edward?" I said hopefully. "Do you feel your fingers growing colder? The fire is beginning to die. It will not be long now. Your body will feel weak for a few hours, but then you will awake and be strong again." He gave no sign of comprehension; his face was buried against the mangled cushion now, his screams muffled but no longer hoarse. I picked up his hand, rubbing his fingers. "Can you feel this? If you can hear me, squeeze my hand." A moment later, I felt the slightest pressure on my own fingertips. A surge of joy flushed through me: his mind was certainly healed! But now that I was sure I had his attention, I didn't know what to say. Was this the time to tell him what he was becoming? I decided against it; now was not the time to frighten him with fangs and bats and dungeons and whatever other nightmarish images his mind would associate with the word _vampire_. Better for him to see, first, that he was still very much himself, and then I could explain.

"It'll be all right," I promised again. "Your hands will feel better and your feet, and it will work its way toward the center-" I cut off as Edward shrieked again, jerking his hand out of mine and thrashing so hard the battered back of the couch finally crumbled way. Perhaps he was not as lucid as I had thought. Better to keep it simple. "It will feel better soon," I finished lamely, looking out the window. The sun was setting again; shouldn't he be further along by now? I no longer feared for his survival, but why was this taking so long? Had I done something wrong?

By the time the first star appeared, Edward's arms were paralyzed. He seemed to reach a new level of panic, and didn't seem to hear any of my assurances. In less than two hours his legs ceased to move. His back arched instead, and his screams finally shifted into roars that shook the walls, his teeth bared and gleaming like knives. His eyes were fully red now, though they were mostly closed. The transformation was nearly complete. Edward was no longer the human boy I had brought from the hospital; he was a vampire now. And despite his pitiful weakness at the moment, I knew that in reality he had become one of the deadliest predators to walk the earth. By all accounts, a soulless, heartless monster.

I felt the weight of responsibility settle like a stone in my stomach; if he should not choose to follow my example, the blood of countless human lives would soon be on _my_ hands, as his creator. I frowned as dark images arose in my imagination; Edward hunting men in dark alleys… hunting women in their homes. But it was not difficult to lay those fears to rest. I simply could not believe that Edward- still, at his core, the same person whose goodness had drawn me to him- would choose that path. I knew the risk; I had certainly wrestled with it for long enough. But my hope far outweighed my fear. And even if it should fail, if Edward should choose to go down that road, I knew that the change in my heart was final: I would love him forever. He was a part of me now.

But that did not preclude my solemn responsibility. I would need to be careful in how I taught him; in such a young man, it was likely that the temptation would be even more difficult to bear. I would need to be strong for his sake, and uncompromising in my instruction. I would need to establish my authority from the first moment, so that he would not feel the burden of choice or a freedom he was not ready for. How was I to temper that with the unconditional love I already felt? My task was growing more daunting every moment, and he wasn't even awake yet.

The night wore on. Edward finally, mercifully, was silent- though I knew the pain had not ceased, only his ability to produce sound. His pulse was rapid now.

"You're almost there," I said in relief. I finally changed Edward into the clothes I had brought downstairs, though I ended up leaving his feet bare. None of my shoes fit him, and it seemed odd to think of him running out for his first hunt in a pair of dress socks. The blue shirt I had selected was a passable fit, though the shoulders were loose and the sleeves a little short. The slacks were at least two inches too short. I gently combed the tangles out of his hair and washed away the last traces of blood from the places I had bitten him.

I changed my own clothes and decided to get rid of the couch, as well. I didn't think the stale blood all over the cushions would smell appealing- it certainly didn't to me, but I thought it best to avoid anything that might tempt him, even in his imagination. I had a frustrating lack of furniture, though. In the end I tore up the rug, which still had stains and smells in it from when he had vomited. I swept the hardwood floor clean and gently laid him out on it, and then took everything outside to burn. But at the last moment I decided this was no time for a fire; Edward's heart was racing now. I simply buried it all. While I worked, I caught the scent of a passing deer and felt my throat burn hotter with longing- and with memory at the taste of Edward's blood. But there was no time for that either.

I dashed back into the house just in time. Edward was no longer breathing, and his heart was beating so hard and fast that even my ears could barely distinguish the contractions from one another. I felt a new anxiety race through me as I realized it was moments away. What should I say first? What should I say now? I supposed the most important thing was to keep him here until I had a chance to explain things. I picked up his hand.

"It'll be over in just a moment, Edward. You'll wake up and feel very strong, and you may feel confused, but please, stay here with me. I'll take care of you. Stay with me."

Remembering my own panic upon awakening, I decided to give him some space. I stood and backed away, moving the other furniture farther away from where Edward lay on the floor. And then I waited, unbreathing and unsure... and ready for my life to change forever.


	24. 1663-1935: Last Meal

**Just a fun little interlude while I work on 1918 part 2... it's a drabble-bunny that kept coming up in my head. I was going to post it in the Drabbles, since it's not in narrative form, but since it's all real prequel headcanon, I thought it belonged here instead.**

* * *

Carlisle Cullen laid down his wooden stake and distractedly ate some day-old bread and hard cheese. It was midnight, and he was waiting with his fellows by the sewer-lid for the mysterious vampire to reappear. He actually consumed less than half of the meal he had brought, as he had gladly shared it with two friends who hadn't thought to pack a snack for their night of monster-hunting.

Jasper Whitlock had a cold plate of dinner from the officer's mess in Houston. Sergeant Lockewoode had saved it for him while he was stuck in a meeting with a bunch of generals, listening to Jefferson Davis working himself into a tizzy over the Emancipation Proclamation and the lyrics of _The Battle Hymn of the Republic_. He didn't even notice what he was eating (it was cold bean mash with bacon with a side of sliced carrots) because he was mulling over his impression of the President and worrying over his horse, Patch, who had been favoring a sore leg for most of the day.

Esme Platt (she had dropped the Evenson for fear of being discovered) had a fairly decent hospital meal of sliced pot roast, string beans and a little potato… although that was more than a full day-and-a-half before the end of her human life, since she spent that final day anxiously watching her infant son weaken.

Edward Masen was never able to get any food down during his brief hospital stay, being already so far gone with fever. For his last real food he had forced down a couple of saltines and some chicken broth, mainly for his mother's sake, though that was two days ago. His last day as a human was spent with the taste of crushed aspirin lingering in his mouth. His last drink was a few drops of water coaxed into him by his mother several hours before, who was shortly thereafter forced back to bed by their nurses, for the last time. (Carlisle also gave him some water during the early stages of his transformation, fearing that his dehydration might make the spread of venom more difficult)

Mary Alice Brandon had a typical dinner in the asylum, a bean mash ironically similar to Jasper's but without the bacon, with a side dish of six different pills that left her staring at her plate long after it had been cleared away. She was actually seeing tomorrow's bean mash in her head, though as it turned out she wouldn't be there to eat it.

Rosalie Hale had a nice dinner with Vera and her husband, one of Vera's more successful experiments in cooking-on-a-dime: a lovely kidney-bean casserole topped with crushed Cornflakes. It was a little burnt while the two friends chattered and cooed over Henry, but still surprisingly satisfying to Rosalie, who was used to finer fare.

Emmett McCarty packed himself a fine man-sized lunch when he went out a-bear-hunting. A tin cup packed with leftover stew from last night, a full mini-loaf of his Ma's corn bread (which he had split and soaked at least a quarter-cup of maple syrup into), an apple, some scraps of dried venison, a little blueberry pie, and a supposedly-empty canteen to be filled at the stream, but which secretly held a splash of whiskey.

.

Epilogue: Bella Cullen drank human blood.


	25. 1918: Edward Cullen (2 of 2)

**Edward Cullen (Part 2 of 2)**

**Carlisle POV**

Edward's racing heart stopped at last, giving one last _thud_ before fading into silence. His eyelids twitched, then a finger, and then he exploded into the air. He landed in an attack crouch, only to scramble away in a panic once his red eyes fixed on me.

"It's all right," I began, holding up my hands peaceably.

Edward backed farther away from me, crashing into a lamp and table. He startled at the noise and stumbled away in the opposite direction, baring his teeth and snarling at me in warning. "It's all right, Edward," I said gently. He looked so afraid! "I'll explain everything."

Edward's eyes darted nervously around the room- to the ceiling, toward the hall, back to me, and finally he saw the window. He began to inch towards it, keeping his eyes on me.

"No," I said firmly, taking a step closer. I remembered, with a jolt of anxiety, the stories I had heard about newborn strength. _Would_ I be able to stop him, if it came to it? "You _must_ stay with me, at least for a while. I assure you, I will-"

"Get away!" he hissed, backing further away in a flash. His hand flew up to his throat, but then he gasped as his back slammed into the fireplace. The bricks crumbled and fell in pieces around him. He spun around in a panic, as if he had been attacked. I should have brought him outside for this part… though in that case he might already have run off. As if in answer to my thought, he glanced toward the window again.

"We'll go outside soon," I promised. "I know you must be thirsty." Edward's hand drifted up to his throat again, and he winced. That was unwise- drawing his attention to his thirst had almost certainly made it worse. "Do you remember me?" I asked, hoping to distract him for a moment. "From the hospital?"

Edward finally straightened up to his full height, though he still wore an expression of mistrust. "Doctor," he began, and then winced again, rubbing his throat. "Coleman?" he guessed.

"Cullen. My name is Carlisle Cullen… but please, call me Carlisle."

"Edward Masen," he said in reflex. He glanced around, frowning.

"This is my home," I explained. "I brought you here to… You were very sick, Edward, and I wasn't able to save you with regular medicine."

"My mother," he gasped, his expression changing suddenly. He waited, his question painfully clear.

"I'm sorry. She didn't make it."

Edward's eyes squeezed closed. The muscles in his jaw stood out, and his hands clenched into granite fists. When he opened his eyes again, they were darker. "What did you do to me?" he asked. It was time. All my preparation seemed so inadequate; how could I explain this?

"I saved you a different way," I said gently. "I made you… like me." Edward raised his hand to inspect it, glancing at my own skin in comparison. I felt too ashamed to speak the word yet, especially here in the face of his grief: _vampire_.

Edward's face twisted in horror. "Vampire," he said, his voice choked.

I frowned, tilting my head. I didn't recall using the word before, not even when I had explained, somewhat, what was happening to him while he lay changing.

"You just _said_ it," he snapped. He winced again, raising a hand to touch his throat.

"What?"

"What!?"

He was growing agitated; his breathing was rapid and his eyes were darkening further. We would need to hunt, before he lost all control.

"No!" he shouted. "I am _not_ going to be a vampire! I don't _want_ to hurt anyone!" Both hands were at his throat now. His alarm was quickly turning to panic. "Whatever you did to me," he rasped through his teeth, "fix it! Undo it! _Now!_"

"No, it's all right!" I assured him quickly. "We don't need to hurt anyone. We will hunt animals, only animals."

That got his attention. The tension in his hands, holding his throat like a vice, eased slightly. He blinked. "You don't… kill people?"

"No! Never. I have never killed a human. And I will help you resist as well. It's true that we feed on blood, but that doesn't mean we need to hurt any people. I understand it's very difficult right now, Edward- I know you're terribly thirsty, but you will feel better after we hunt. _Animals_," I added firmly.

"Animals," he repeated, wrinkling his nose. He swallowed, but finally let his hands fall back to his sides.

I smiled, encouraged. It looked like this would be easier than I had feared; perhaps he would listen to me, after all. I was relieved to recognize my own newborn fear in his eyes, his desperate desire not to become a killer. But the real test was still to come; would he stay with me in the woods? I turned to lead him out into the hall.

"I will," he said quickly. "I promise."

I turned back to face him. "You'll what?"

"Stay with you in the woods."

I frowned, perplexed. I hadn't asked that out loud, had I?

"Of course you did!"

I stared at him, forgetting to breathe as understanding and awe dawned over my mind. I hadn't even fathomed something like _this_ happening. Could it be possible? _Edward? Can you… hear this?_

He pressed his lips together, looking annoyed. "Of course I can. I'm standing right here."

I shook my head, speechless. Not only was he gifted, but he was gifted like _Aro_!

"What do you mean, gifted? Who's Aro?"

Excitement coursed through me, and fear. How did I even begin to explain this? "All of us… our kind… can do things that humans cannot. We're stronger, faster… more intelligent. But beyond that, some of us have extra abilities. It seems you can hear my thoughts, as well as my spoken words."

Silence. Edward stared at me as if I had grown a third eye. He finally drew a hesitant breath. "Think something," he demanded. I laughed quietly, shaking my head again in wonder. As a test, I thought about the number two hundred thirty-seven.

"Two hundred thirty-seven," Edward said instantly.

"That's right. _Amazing_."

A faint smile pulled at Edward's lips. "I was wondering why you sometimes talked without moving your mouth." Then his smile disappeared. "Can you hear my thoughts as well?"

I shook my head. "I have no gift."

"Gift," he repeated, mulling over the word. His hand crept up to his throat again.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "We can speak more about this later; you need to hunt."

Edward looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I've never gone hunting before. I've never even held a real gun."

"You don't need one. Your teeth with suffice." Edward looked like he was going to be sick. "It will come naturally, I promise. I will help you. But it's very important that you stay with me, as I said… as I _thought_ before. There are many things I need to teach you about this life, and it's of the greatest importance that we keep you away from the city."

Edward's grimace deepened. "Because I would… hurt people."

I nodded sadly. "Yes. The temptation is very strong right now, in your first months. As you grow older, you will be able to… never mind," I said hastily. He was growing agitated again, the panic returning to his eyes and his hand kneading at his throat. "We'll talk more later. The important thing is, stay with me. If we should get separated, please remain still until I find you."

Edward nodded uncomfortably, and I led him out into the hall. "Wait here," I instructed. I opened the front door and was outside in the flash, closing it behind me. It was a mercy that he had awoken in the middle of the night; humans were unlikely to be out in the woods, especially with the cold weather this week. I glanced around anyway, listening intently and tasting the air for any trace of nearby humans. I opened the door. "It's all right," I assured him. "You can come out."

Edward moved out onto the porch with me, pulling the door closed as he came. The door slammed and the knob came off in his hand. He stared at it, looking ill again. "I'm sorry," he offered.

"It's quite all right. As I mentioned, we are much stronger than humans. It will take you a little while to grow accustomed to your new... Edward?"

He was no longer paying attention to me. He was staring at the woods, at the sky, the ground, at the whole world as he stepped off the porch and turned slowly in a circle. "There's so much," he murmured to himself. "I can hear… _everything_."

I smiled, watching as his attention darted from one thing at another at inhuman speed. The chirp of a cricket, the rustling of leaves high above us, the quiet music of a nearby stream. A moth fluttered against the eaves of the house and Edward startled, turning around to watch it for a moment. Another breeze stirred the leaves on the tangled crabgrass of my backyard, and Edward spun back around again to watch them dance over the ground.

"Hunting," I reminded him with another smile. These things- the small miracles of nature, easily observable to our enhanced senses- had become mundane to me after so many years of walking the earth, but watching Edward discover them stirred my heart with pride and second-hand wonder.

Edward nodded, looking back up to the moth with distaste. "What do we eat?" he wondered aloud.

"Not that!" I laughed. "Let's go find you something worthwhile. A deer, perhaps… whatever is out tonight." My own throat burned at the thought, but tonight was for Edward. I would need to keep watch.

"Keep watch?" Edward mumbled, his head turning to the sound of another cricket. I startled as well, realizing that he could hear _everything_ I thought. It was most unsettling. "I'm sorry," he said, looking ashamed.

"Don't be!" I protested. "You have been given a marvelous gift. It will just take some getting used to, that's all. Come on, follow me." I picked up into a run, soon hearing Edward's footsteps keeping pace behind me. He gasped and I turned to see what was the matter, but he blurred right past me into the forest ahead. "Wait for me!" I called, increasing my speed. He was _fast_!

Edward slowed, letting me set the pace. We didn't have to go far, fortunately, before I caught the faint, earthy scent of a deer off to the northwest. "Stop," I said over my shoulder. Edward halted instantly, staring at me with wide eyes.

"I'm not even out of breath," he said incredulously.

I grinned. "It's an amazing feeling, isn't it? The running?" He nodded dumbly. I raised an eyebrow. "The climbing is exhilarating, too. Follow me." I leapt straight up into the air and grabbed onto the lowest branch of an ancient oak, swinging myself up and climbing into the middle branches. I looked back down to where Edward stood a hundred feet below, staring up at me with astonishment. "You can do it too!" I laughed. "Try it!"

He looked doubtful, but sank down into a crouch and jumped, misjudging the distance and flying right past me into the highest branches. They snapped under his weight and he tumbled through several layers before coming to a stop right beside me. His hair was mussed with twigs and leaves. "That was… unexpected," he admitted. He swallowed, looking uncomfortable. All at once his nostrils flared and his head snapped toward the northwest; the deer was coming closer. His lips drew back from his teeth and he tensed to spring toward his prey.

"Wait," I said, laying a hand on his arm. He flinched away, looking suddenly angry. It was the first time I had touched him since his awakening; despite how well he was doing, I needed to remember that his instincts were very sensitive right now. All the same, I wished that I had had a teacher, back when I was new. Edward must not want for anything, in that sense. "I know you must be thirsty," I said. "Just wait a moment, and take in your surroundings. Notice the scents, their direction, their quality. We are not savages, Edward. The hunt is a necessary part of our life, but we do not need to undertake it recklessly."

An impatient growl rumbled in Edward's chest, but he paused and obediently closed his eyes, listening and smelling as the deer slowly picked through the bramble towards us. A new breeze sifted through the trees, rocking us gently in the branches and bringing a surprise with it. Edward's eyes snapped open just as I scented it, too: mountain lion, just a little farther away than the deer. A real treat for his first meal!

"Mountain lion?" he echoed, looking nervously at me.

"It can't hurt you," I promised. "Not only are you far stronger than a human, but you're far tougher. Our skin is nearly impossible to damage." Edward looked toward the scent again, his eyes dark and desperate as he looked back to me.

"Go on," I encouraged him. "It's all yours. Just wait for me after you're done. I'll-" I laughed quietly as Edward shimmied down the tree and disappeared. I felt a bit uneasy about letting him go ahead alone, but I thought it might be best to give him some privacy for the moment. He seemed nervous, and in all honestly I was a little nervous myself. Even mature vampires had a tendency toward violence during the hunt; I was rather afraid of what Edward might do if he felt that he was being challenged for his prey. I waited until I heard the telltale scream of a mountain lion, which went on for a few moments before weakening and quieting. I realized too late that I had not instructed Edward to kill his prey before feeding; I would need to address that. It made the hunt much cleaner, and it was a kindness to the animal itself. I moved silently down to the ground, slowly making my way toward Edward's scent, giving him time to finish feeding.

As I quietly made my way through the trees toward him, I reflected on Edward's first several minutes. I had never met a newborn, and had been alone for my own first year, so I hadn't known quite what to expect. I had heard horror stories both in Volterra and from a friend or two; Edward had done rather well so far, I thought. And his gift- what an incredible surprise! So like Aro's, and even more powerful in at least one way; he didn't seem to need contact to hear my thoughts. I wondered if he could hear them now; surely not, as I was still several hundred feet away. I also wondered if he was able to see all my past thoughts, like Aro, especially since I had touched his arm. It would be interesting to experiment and discern the limits and parameters of Edward's gift; I hoped he would be interested as well, and agreeable. He had responded well to me, so far; I felt a growing hope that he would indeed turn out to be the friend I had hoped for for so long.

I still hoped, foolishly perhaps, that he might someday see me as a father, or something like that. But his grief was still too fresh, for his own parents. It was quite possible he would never be able to move on from that, to conceive of replacing them in any way. I realized that I should not even dwell on such thoughts, as Edward would be able to hear them; I did not want him to feel pressured by my hope. It would be an interesting challenge to _not_ think about certain things! I felt quite inadequate for the task ahead; I knew little enough about how to raise a newborn, and now I had a powerfully gifted newborn. If only the Denalis were closer! Eleazar would know how to advise him better than I. But they were far away in Alaska; they didn't even own a telephone. Perhaps a visit next year, once Edward was ready… if he was still willing to live and travel with me at that point. My chest swelled with pride at the thought of introducing him to my "cousins"… to _his_ new cousins as well, I supposed. I nearly laughed out loud as I imagined what Tanya's and her sisters' reaction what be. Eleazar would be delighted to analyze Edward's gift, and Carmen might enjoy mothering him a bit. But that was a long way off.

We would need to be very careful in these first months. My house was isolated, nearly a mile off the main road, but not as isolated as I would have chosen, had I foreseen raising a newborn here. Humans were in the nearby forest now and then, depending on the time of year, for hunting or camping. Buck season was still a risk, here in early November, so we would confine our outings to the nighttime hours for now. Campers shouldn't be a problem until the warmer months, and by then Edward would be older and, hopefully, ready to deal with occasional human proximity. I wondered if he would be able to hear human thoughts, or anyone's at all, except my own. I supposed it was possibly just a link between the two of us, creator and creation, though I didn't think so. I was _so_ curious to learn more about his mind-reading!

There were other matters to consider. I couldn't imagine leaving him alone long enough to go back into the city. I would need to sooner or later, though, to make arrangements regarding my employment, and also to manage Edward's affairs. As the story stood, he was still alive and recovering in Springfield. I rather liked the idea of letting him "survive"; it would take some doing, and Edward would not be able to meet with any humans for quite a while. I would need to forge not only the necessary legal documents, but also his discharge from the hospital in Springfield, which would require a longer trip… but perhaps I should think about that later. I was becoming acutely aware of my own thoughts now, and worried about overwhelming Edward with the things that were on my mind. I did my best to clear my head for his sake, focusing on the forest around me. It was a refreshingly difficult task; my vampire brain was capable of entertaining several thought processes at once. I endeavored to focus all my attention on my surroundings.

I followed Edward's scent to a small clearing surrounded by immature pines. A little creek bubbled merrily along, winding between the pines. The mountain lion lay dead in the center of the clearing, its neck broken and badly torn. Edward himself had retreated into the shadows, looking ashamed. He was quite disheveled; his hair was still wild and dotted with twigs from his tussle with the oak tree, but now it was streaked with blood as well. The shirt I had dressed him in was already ruined, torn to ribbons by the lion's claws and even more bloodied than his hair. His mouth and chin were coated with blood and tufts of fur. My heart swelled with the most peculiar feeling of warmth, perhaps something akin to a mother doting over her baby in its high chair, laughing indulgently as she watched him smeared himself with mashed peas for the first time. Edward had taken his first step into a new world.

On an impulse I peeled off my suit jacket. I folded it and dipped the corner into the creek while Edward warily looked on. He flinched away as I approached him, but then stood frozen and unbreathing as I carefully drew closer and began to clean his face. I had cleaned many a wound in my long life, dried many a tear from the eyes of young patients, but nothing could have prepared me for the tenderness I felt just now. I thought my heart would burst.

"You did well," I assured him gently.

He did not seem to agree. He stared into my eyes with an expression that was quickly shifting from distaste to horror. "What's the matter?" I asked in alarm.

"I can…" He grimaced. "I can see myself now. In your… thoughts. In your vision."

I shook my head slowly, in even greater awe than before. He could _see_ through my eyes? "Incredible," I breathed.

"It's not incredible," he said flatly. "It's monstrous! _Look_ at me!" He tore his eyes away from mine, looking angrier and kneading his temple with one hand. "Or rather, _stop_ looking at me, please. I can't… I don't know how to turn this off, this thing with your mind, and there's this echo, every time I talk, and I don't even know what happened, I swear I didn't _mean_ to tear that animal apart, and-"

"It's all right," I interrupted softly, hoping I sounded more calm than I felt. If anything, he was more agitated than before he had hunted. What if the animal diet simply didn't work for everyone? What if… _stop_, I reminded myself. He was hearing everything that ran through my mind! I needed to-

"Why am I still thirsty?!" he demanded, taking a threatening step toward me. "Why do I want to kill everything?! What's wrong with my _eyes_? Why don't they look like yours?!"

My heart seized as I took a fearful step backward, holding up my hands in defense. At least Edward's last question was an easy one to answer. "It's normal for a vampire's eyes to be red for the first several months," I said. "Nobody is quite sure why; I assume it's because your body still has so much of your own blood left in it."

Edward scowled. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Other vampires… most vampires, I mean, do drink human blood. Their eyes are always red. But since you'll be feeding on animals yours will soon turn golden like mine." Edward relaxed visibly, and some muscle unclenched in my mind as well; I had just admitted that human blood _was_ a possibility, and he hadn't rejected my philosophy outright. "There are others," I added quickly. "Others who feed on animals. I'll take you to meet them someday, when you're ready."

"Ready?"

"These first months are unusually difficult. I'm afraid you will always feel some minor temptation toward human blood, but it will fade greatly with time, as long as you continue to feed on animals. You will also begin to feel calmer as these first weeks go on. With practice, you'll be able to be around humans again."

"Like you," he said, hope rekindling in his eyes.

"Exactly."

He paused, looking thoughtful. "How long have you…"

I drew a deep breath. "I was made like this in the seventeenth century."

Edward flinched as if I had slapped him. "We are immortal," I said gently. "Disease, old age, illness… human dangers can no longer harm you." Edward stared into space, taking it all in. Now that he was calming down again, I felt quite optimistic. I had so much to teach him! I didn't even know where to begin.

"So," he began uncertainly, "if I keep eating, I mean drinking…" he gestured with distaste toward the lion's corpse. "…that, then I'll be like you someday? More human again, I mean?"

"Absolutely," I agreed with a smile.

He nodded, looking at me with an expression I often received from my patients: still fearful, still wary, but trusting. "I will teach you all I can," I promised. "Everything will get easier. Including hunting. I was messy myself, at first. Next time I recommend killing the animal before you feed, if you can manage it; it'll make things cleaner, and that way your prey will not suffer."

Edward looked pained again. "I didn't even think about that," he admitted, looking apologetically at the great cat that lay sprawled at our feet.

"I'm impressed that you're doing much thinking at _all_," I said proudly. "New vampires are sometimes much wilder. You're doing quite well."

"I am?"

_Truly_, I thought, watching him to see if he would hear me. He did; a weak smile finally appeared and my heart soared. _Everything will be all right, Edward_, I promised him. _You'll see._

.

.

.

**One month later**

This was the third time I had left Edward alone. The first time, when I had driven to Springfield to alter the records in their hospital to show his admission and discharge, had been nerve-wracking for me. What if, despite my warning, he ventured outside, and a human happened to be nearby? What if he saw his chance and made a run for it? What if I were delayed and he grew agitated? I had rushed home that day, only to smile sheepishly when he looked up from a book and said, "Are you back already?" I had gone out again later that week, to begin making arrangements for his estate, and hurried back again to find my fears again unfounded.

I felt only the slightest worry as I drove home this time. I trusted Edward, by now, to hold to his word. And with the snowstorm still going on, the chances of a human being out in the forest were virtually none. There was only the risk of a car passing by on the main road, as sometimes happened. Edward would startle as he heard the engine and the human thoughts piercing his mind, and he would always experience some temptation, knowing humans were that close. But soon the car would get farther away and he would relax, another test passed. I always marveled at the strength of his gift- those cars were nearly a mile away when they passed- and felt equal guilt at being unable to protect him from these temptations, so early on. But it was too soon to move; I was still settling his estate, and these occasional human thoughts were nothing like the temptation he would experience if he were out travelling. The house was the safest place for him in the daytime right now, even if it was not a complete sanctuary from the human world.

I had gone out for a more pleasant reason this time. Edward, with little else to occupy him at home in the daytime hours, had been reading voraciously through my home library, and I had gone out today to find more reading material for him. He was partial to the works of Rudyard Kipling and Charles Dickens, and, surprisingly, Jane Austen. He also enjoyed poetry as well as more scientific genres. He studied my atlases, encyclopedias, even dictionaries. He had even read through several of my medical textbooks and even some of the medical journals I had laying around the house. I had bought out several shelves at the local bookstore today, including the complete works of H.G. Wells and Jules Verne, which I thought he might like to try.

Thus far, reading was Edward's main pastime. I was at a loss for how else to entertain him, other than in conversation. He was certainly interested in my stories and had asked a great many questions, both about my own life and about our kind in general. But even our tireless ears grew weary of conversation after several hours, and while Edward was certainly calmer now than at first, he required solitude and quiet at times. Frankly, so did I. I was overjoyed to finally have someone at home to talk to, but Edward and I had fallen into a peaceable rhythm of conversation and quiet. I had tried to interest him in projects about the house, and in helping me maintain my automobile, but he was too afraid he might damage things. It could hardly be said that Edward was clumsy, but he was still learning to adapt his new strength to each task. It was good, then, that he so enjoyed reading; I often just looked on proudly as he devoured book after book, recognizing the hunger in his eyes as his expanded brain eagerly took in as much knowledge as he could get his hands on.

The piano was one hobby I hoped he would soon try. After we had returned from our hunt on the first day, I had given him a tour of the house and he had seemed particularly interested in the piano in the sitting room. It had come with the house, and was quite dusty with disuse; I could play, but not well, and I seldom bothered.

"Do you play?" I had asked him hopefully.

"I did."

I had urged him to play something for me, but he had refused, saying he was afraid to damage the keys. His expression had taken on that familiar look of nausea, and I knew he was contemplating the unwelcome nature I had given him; I knew to let the matter rest.

Edward had never once blamed me for what I had done, but he was not glad of it. He had, on his worse days, made it clear that he did not want this life I had forced on him, though he never spoke with hostility or resentment. If anything, he was unfailingly polite on the subject. He seemed to feel that the transformation had somehow destroyed his soul, that he was forever damned or, at least, barred from Paradise. I had tried to share my own hope and thoughts on the subject, but since Edward often grew agitated whenever we discussed it, it rarely came up. I hoped that as he calmed further, I would be able to dispel his doubts through further discussion. It was certainly difficult for him, being trapped in a house like this during the daylight hours, so I could understand his discontent. I had every confidence that as he gained more independence and learned to socialize with humans again, that his disposition would improve.

In any case, he was generally a very pleasant young man to be around. His moods were vibrant at times, but that was to be expected. On every matter except that of his change he was most gracious, even deferential and friendly. I was pleased that he was so interested in the events of my life, and even shared some of my interests, and he seemed to enjoy spending time with me. I encouraged him to talk about his human life, to call up as many memories as he could before they faded away forever. Besides conversation, we had played a few games on the previously-unused dining room table and often simply shared our days in silence, reading and occasionally sharing items of interest with one another. I had not officially broached the topic of what would happen after his newborn year; I suppose I was afraid to hear that he might choose to go off on his own. Instead I took a more cowardly route, briefly discussing plans that assumed his staying on: visiting the Denalis next year, moving to a new location, visiting certain hunting ranges, etc. He never protested my presumption, at least. I was sure he had, at least once or twice, heard me wondering about it.

Edward's gift never ceased to amaze me. He had been agreeable to my ideas for experimentation, and we had thus far sorted out several fascinating elements of its operation. His mind-reading was automatic; that is, he heard my thoughts without effort. In fact, he had little choice in the matter. He simply could not turn it "off", or at least hadn't yet learned how to do so. He could, with intense concentration on one or more other topics or stimuli, ignore the sound of my thoughts, but it was quite difficult for him. He could also "see" through my eyes, as well as smell through my nose and hear through my ears. We had no way of knowing exactly how this phenomenon occurred, whether he was truly accessing those diverse parts of my brain, or from the sensory neurons themselves, or whether he was just sharing in my subconscious processing of the sensory information itself in my frontal cortex. I was eager to try some more involved experimentation using equipment from the hospital, but that would have to wait.

Range was another interesting facet of Edward's gift. While I did not have a straight road on which to employ my automobile's odometer in these experiments, I had a vague sense of distance myself, and simply walked away from the house in a straight line, mentally announcing at regular intervals how far I thought I was at each moment. We repeated this experiment several times, concluding that Edward's "automatic" range of mental hearing was nearly three-quarters of a mile, and he could hear me even farther away than that, nearly a mile and a half, if he made a concentrated effort. His range was largest for hearing thoughts, next largest for sharing my visual input, and smallest for other senses. I had many other hypotheses and questions, but further experimentation would have to wait until Edward could be exposed to other minds. Since he had begun hearing occasional mental voices of humans passing out on the main road, I now assumed he would be able to hear _any_ minds he came across. I was curious how he would fare closer to civilization, where thousands of minds would be audible. Eleazar, when I presented Edward to him, would no doubt have insights of his own.

As I pulled off the main road and began the winding journey through the edge of the forest to my home- _our_ home, I thought with pride- I smiled in anticipation. I hoped Edward would enjoy everything I was bringing him. Besides the books, I had also purchased several of the most difficult jigsaw puzzles the bookstore had, a copy of every available newspaper, an introductory textbook on electronics, and a deck of playing cards. I wondered what card games he knew, and whether he would enjoy learning some older ones he had no doubt never heard of.

My heart was light today; when I had purchased the newspapers earlier I had seen encouraging headlines confirming the rapid decline in the number of cases of Spanish Influenza. While I never once regretted my choice to bring Edward home and change him, I had still felt badly about leaving the hospital when they most needed me; the epidemic had still been raging at the time. It was unsettling to imagine how many lives might have been lost by my absence; not many, I hoped. But Edward was my first priority now, as it should be. It was the grandest feeling in the world to be driving home and know that someone was there waiting for me! That I had someone with whom to talk about my day and my thoughts, with whom I could speak _freely_, without deception. I had enjoyed encountering others of my kind in the past, and had made extended visits up in Alaska and Volterra, but this was different. This was _home_, and while the word had not yet been spoken aloud by either of us, this was _family_.

My mind betrayed me now and then, the word _son_ dancing fondly across my mind in Edward's presence. He usually pretended not to notice or looked awkwardly away as I scrambled to change mental gears. Perhaps my sentiment embarrassed him, or renewed his grief regarding his true parents. But I could not help the way I felt. Edward had changed me forever. I would always find a profound sense of purpose in my work, but it felt as though my entire life was shaped around him now, and I would not have it any other way.

I parked and gathered my purchases in my arms, smiling as Edward's familiar scent welcomed me home. The house was silent, but for the quiet turning of pages every ten or eleven seconds. I went in and deposited everything on the dining room table, going upstairs in search of Edward to tell him what I had brought home. I found him seated on the floor in my home office, surrounded by stacks of books, three of which were open before him, his eyes darting between two of the three.

"I see you've discovered the French shelf," I said aloud. Most of my reference materials were in English, but I still had a dusty collection of books on medicine, art, and music from my time in France.

"Hmm," was his absent response. He read for another moment, then closed both the books and turned his head to smile up at me. "I've got the language sorted out fairly well now," he announced. He had found one of my French novels two weeks ago, and expressed an interest in learning the language so he could read it. I had unearthed my French-to-English phrasebook, and he had done the rest via immersion, in his reading. "Though I've no idea how to pronounce half of it. Would you mind reading some of this aloud for me sometime?"

"Certainly. And I think you'll find it most interesting, when the time comes, to listen to people _thinking_ in other languages." His eyebrows rose in interest. "In the meantime, I picked up some things today that you might find interesting."

"Thank you. And… I have a surprise for you, as well." He looked suddenly unsure. "Join me in the sitting room?"

I followed him downstairs to the room in question. We hardly ever came in here, as most of my books were either in my office in the parlor. Only the piano was… _the piano?_ I asked eagerly.

He nodded, gingerly taking a seat on the bench, which I now noticed was out of place. "I tried it while you were out. I still have to think about being gentle, but it's all right." He looked up at me. "I'm a bit out of practice," he said bashfully.

"Go on," I urged, smiling.

He spread his long fingers upon the keys, hesitating. A look of concentration spread over his features and he began to play. It was some classical piece or other; I had heard it before, but never learned who the composer was. Whatever it was, it was _beautiful_. The house was instantly filled with Edward's music; it was as if life and color were being splashed upon the walls for the first time. I decided instantly that I needed to purchase a Victrola and some phonograph records the next time I went out.

Edward fumbled in his song, looking up at me with a grin. "That's a great idea," he agreed, and resumed playing. He made a few mistakes here and there, and his pressure on the keys was not always quite right, but his skill was obvious. He hadn't told me he was so talented! He must have taken lessons for years.

"Yes, I did," he murmured, his eyes squinting in the way they always did when he was trying to remember something. "My teacher was an older man… Mr. Fuller, I think his name was. He came to the house on Thursdays. My favorite was Beethoven, and my mother liked to hear Sousa marches…" His song trailed off and he rearranged his fingers, smiling slightly as he began to play _Stars and Stripes Forever_, and then another march I hadn't heard before. He transitioned into a song, something like classical but not quite, that I didn't recognize. But he only got a few measures in before he trailed off, frowning down at the keys. "I can't remember that one," he admitted.

"I didn't recognize it either. I'll be happy to pick up whatever sheet music you'd like, next time I go out. You could make a list of your favorite composers and styles."

"Yes, thank you."

Edward's fingers shifted on the keys again, and the haunting melody of Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_ soon began. Edward's eyes drifted closed, and his touch on the keys became more natural. The music was heavenly; I nearly closed my eyes as well, but instead drank in the sight of Edward's contentment as he played. I had never seen him look so peaceful; he seemed to have retreated into some other world, inhabited only by himself and his music. I was moved, not only by the beauty of the piece, but also filled with love and relief as I watched my son discover this new happiness. My heart ached to see how much this meant to him. I hoped that from now on he would play often. Now I almost looked forward to the next time I went out on errands, just so I could hear music drifting from the house… calling me home as I pulled up the driveway.

Edward laughed, finishing his song and beginning another. "I'll be sure to do that the next time you go out."

"Do you know any Chopin?" I asked.

Edward's fingers quieted again, his little finger tapping on its key as he thought. "The name sounds familiar, but…"

I hummed the first few measures of my favorite nocturne. He nodded in recognition, though his fingers didn't seem to remember how to join in. "Put that on the list," he said, moving to start a new song. This one was some kind of exercise, perhaps an etude. He grinned widely as his fingers flew faster and faster through the complex ascending scales, making less mistakes as his confidence grew. Finally his fingers tumbled off the right end of the piano and we both laughed. He began Brahams' lullaby this time, its soft sweetness a nice contrast to the frantic energy of the last piece.

I must have stood there for hours, watching him play. The sun set and still he went on, completely lost now in the world of his music. I didn't think he could even hear my thoughts anymore, he was so enraptured. I relaxed the vigilance over my mind, feeling rather like a parent tucking in a child who had already fallen asleep. _My son_, I thought proudly. _He looks so happy._

Edward faltered in his song; he had heard me, after all. _I'm sorry_, I thought quickly. _I didn't mean to- _

"No, it's all right," he said, studiously keeping his eyes on his hands as they played.

_It doesn't bother you? To hear me think of you that way? As my son? _

Edward played for another moment. "No. I rather… like it."

"Really? I would have thought that with your parents gone…"

"They _are_ gone." He looked up at me, his fingers paused on the keys. "You are my family now. I know you've been wondering if I'll want to stay with you or not, and I do. So if you want to think of me as your son, then maybe… I could think of you as my father. If that's all right?"

I felt as though my heart would beat out of my chest. "Edward," I said warmly, laying my hand on his shoulder. "Nothing could make me happier. Nothing in the world."

He smiled, but still looked uncertain. "Shall I… call you Father, then?"

"Heavens, no!" I laughed, letting my hand fall away. "Are you trying to make me feel like an old man?"

"You _are_ an old man," he retorted, offering his trademark crooked smile, but he looked relieved as he laughed and continued his song. And I may have imagined it, but I thought I heard a new happiness spill into the music, the very same one I felt. Edward had said it perfectly, and I proudly echoed his words in my thoughts.

_You are my family now._

* * *

**Aw, the Cullen family has officially begun! :) As a nice contrast, up next we'll get to see the whole family together in the first post-1950 outtake. It's one I've been very excited about for a long time. Edward is wrapping up a college degree in Music Performance and it will be Esme's POV of his senior recital, with a lot of family fluff in there as well. **

**Some of you have asked if I'll ever go back and write a Tale of Years: 1918. Not anytime soon, at least, but in the meantime I highly recommend Haemophilus Leona's new work in progress, _Eternal Teenager. _It's a collection of some important prequel moments in Edward's POV, beginning with a fantastic transformation scene. I also have some other great prequels favorited on my profile, including two new ones in progress: _Finding Home_ by Miki Mouse in Blue Jeans, which covers Edward's rebellious years, and a lovely new Esme story by angelwatson.**


	26. 1955: Recital

**This outtake is a nice, happy one from Esme. It's really about Edward's senior recital, which wraps up a degree in Music Performance, but it's also full of sweet Cullen Family fluff :) It goes without saying that you'll enjoy the recital much more if you head over to YouTube and listen along with the program (included in full, later on in the outtake). For Clair de Lune I recommend any performance by Victor Borge, and for the Chopin, Arthur Rubenstein. I couldn't find a good video for the Liszt etudes, but my favorite fast-and-furious recordings are the ones by Ashkenazy and Ovchinnikov. For "Just You, Just Me", use the search terms "King Cole Trio Just You instrumental". **

**For the full effect of the Rachmaninoff, I think the best video is the performance by Denis Matsuev- particularly the angsty middle and furious conclusion, which ends Edward's program so you _have_ to watch that part. (on that video, it's 17:15- end. Watch this, if you watch nothing else!)**

**Spoiler Alert: this takes place after the 1950 story and contains a couple of major spoilers for it... I highly recommend waiting on this one if you haven't read all of 1950 yet.**

**This one's for you, Silque, my fellow Chopin-and-Rachmaninoff fangirl! :)**

* * *

**Esme POV**

"Emmett," I called down the stairs on the way to get dressed. "We're leaving in fifteen minutes!"

Emmett grunted in acknowledgement from three floors below. He was down in the basement as he had been for the past week, still tinkering with his design for a tennis racquet that would hold up to vampire use.

I hummed as I flipped through my dresses at human speed, finally settling on the blue gown and wrap that Alice had gotten me for Mother's Day this year. It was a beautiful piece, perfectly fitted and just the length I liked, and also surprisingly understated considering who picked it out. Maybe I had finally gotten it through to my youngest daughter that I really didn't prefer wearing jewels _on_ my clothing. It was perfect for tonight; stately and lovely, yet it wouldn't draw away from Edward's splendor in his tuxedo. Tonight was for him.

I knelt down to fish the proper shoes out of the bottom of the closet and stood up to find myself caught in a pair of strong arms and wrapped in my favorite scent in the world. _Carlisle. _I closed my eyes and leaned back, turning my face to receive his kiss.

"I had a feeling you'd choose that one," he said softly. I turned further in his arms, smiling to see that he was already dressed in his dark grey suit, complete with the blue tie that matched my dress exactly.

"Alice?" I guessed. He nodded.

"She also insisted I get dressed early, though I can't imagine-"

His head turned to the sound of our mailbox being opened out on the main road, a quarter mile away. "That's why," I laughed, seeing his eyes glaze over with that familiar scientific hunger. No less than _three_ medical journals arrived on the seventeenth of every month. I shoved him toward the doorway. "Shoo! I have to get dressed anyway." He gave me one more distracted kiss and disappeared.

I was dressed in a flash, but had more trouble with my hair. I wanted it up, which was usually not a problem, and yet for all our physical perfection, vampires did indeed have bad hair days. This was one of them. After fussing over the wayward curls for another couple of minutes, I went to the upstairs bathroom in search of more bobby pins.

I had scarcely laid my hand on the knob when the door tore open. Alice darted past me wearing nothing but a towel, and before I could take another step Rosalie streaked past me into the bathroom, slamming the door closed and yelling "Mine!"

"Oh, come _on_," a voice growled behind me, and I turned to see Edward stalking back into his room, still wearing yesterday's clothes. Why was it that no matter how many bathrooms we had, they always picked a favorite shower and ended up fighting over it?

"Because it's the only bathroom with an exhaust fan," Edward called from his room. "And _some_ people," he continued in a louder voice, "like to see how much humidity they can produce, when there's a perfectly good window they could be opening."

"And if _some_ people," came the shrill reply from the bathroom, "would get a decent haircut, they could just wash their hair in the kitchen sink and stay out of my way!" Edward growled again, but made no further argument.

I sighed and added _exhaust fan_ to my growing mental list for this week's errands. I rapped on the door. "Rosalie? I just need to get some bobby pins. Rosalie!"

I heard a long-suffering sigh and the water turned off, only for the two seconds it took for the door to be unlocked. I gathered the bobby pins and made my escape gladly. Rosalie and Edward were at it again; this time it was because she and Emmett had already gotten concert tickets for tonight when Edward announced that this was the evening of his recital. One thing led to another, as usual, and they probably wouldn't cool off until next week. I was glad Alice had convinced Rosalie to come- which, of course, meant that Emmett was coming too- but I sincerely hoped that Rosalie would behave herself tonight.

I finally got my hair to behave and went down to the basement to remind Emmett to get ready again. I found my mad scientist hunched over his workbench doing something mysterious with a blowtorch and a tennis racquet. Jasper, who had been roped into playing assistant, was winding up for another test-hit. After a few episodes of falling plaster, I had insisted that Emmett suspend the tennis ball from the ceiling by a length of fishing line, hanging from a suspended bar. This way, the ball and its string circled harmlessly around the bar instead of devastating the underside of my kitchen floor.

I stood out of the way while Jasper swung the racquet. With a _THWACK_ the tennis ball was sent flying in circles around the bar, while the hurricane-force wind of Jasper's swing mussed my hair.

"Oh!" I huffed, tugging out more bobby pins.

"Sorry," Jasper offered sheepishly, then inspected the racquet in his hand. "Strings held up fine, but the grip still needs work," he reported to Emmett. He held up the racquet so Emmett could see how his fingers had warped the handle. Emmett muttered something about tensile strength and Jasper tossed the ruined racquet onto a pile of other warped racquets, most of which had a tennis-ball-sized hole torn right through the sweet spot.

"I see you've made some progress," I said to Emmett's back. He spun around in his chair and grinned as he stood to reset the tennis ball on its string.

"We'll be playing tennis in no time," he promised.

"We could just hold back, you know," I laughed. "I'm sure we could adjust to hit the ball with human force."

"Where's the fun in that?!"

"Ten minutes, Emmett."

"I said I'll be ready in time!" he whined, sitting back down and picking up the blowtorch again. "It only takes me fifteen seconds to get my tux on."

"You're not wearing your tuxedo," I reminded him. "Only Edward is. You're wearing a suit and necktie."

"Good! Seven seconds, then. Why do women take so long to get ready, anyway?"

"Because we spent most of that time wrangling family members to get ready on time!"

"Hmph." He flicked the blowtorch back on.

"You're sure you're not coming?" I asked Jasper hopefully.

Jasper shrugged, flicking at a few specks of sawdust on the workbench. "Don't think I'm ready for that."

"Next time," I promised him. He nodded, giving me a little smile that brightened his golden eyes. Jasper had come so far in the past five years. We would be moving on soon, and for the very first time he would try attending school with the others in our new home. But tonight- nearly three hundred humans packed in a dark auditorium, all flipping through razor-sharp paper bulletins - was asking a bit much. Alice hadn't seen anything happening, but Jasper still didn't feel comfortable.

I went back upstairs and re-did my hair, more loosely this time. I chose one of the necklaces Edward had given me and the diamond earrings that matched it best. And just a touch of make-up; it would probably fall off by the end of the recital, but at least I'd look more human for the beginning. By the time I made it back down to the living room, Edward was seated at his piano playing through the first half of his program. He was breathtaking in his tuxedo. It hadn't taken much to convince him to get a second one- a real white-tie tailcoat- for tonight.

_Afraid you'll mess up?_ I teased him.

He smirked down at the keys, playing on. I laid my hand on the piano, watching happily as he drifted away into that magical world that his music took him to. I always loved to see him so carefree like this. Sometimes my son seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, or at least the burden of living inside all our minds. But when he played, especially these lighter, more ethereal songs that were his favorites, all that drifted away. I could see him grow young again as he forgot himself and just lived in the music he was making. Sometimes his expression, whether it was of tranquility or pain or longing, made me wonder what was going through that head of his.

I also loved the way our home would transform when he played. Everyone grew quieter, calmer… _more human, that should please you,_ I thought with a fond smile. He made no sign of having heard me; he was miles away. I suppose each of us were swept away, if not fully into that secret world with him, closer to it. Even Rosalie softened when Edward's music filled the house; even Alice would slow down and quiet her chatter to listen. Jasper was a unique audience, sometimes coming into the living room just to feel the emotions that Edward, or the rest of us, would feel as he played certain styles. And my Carlisle, who also carried burdens no man should have to bear, though he carried them more hopefully than our son did, needed this rest that Edward's music brought him. And perhaps it was just a mother's pride, but I thought the whole world should get to experience Edward's music. I would settle for tonight, though. He deserved this.

We had settled here five years ago under the name London, hesitating at first to take our places in human society. Carlisle had been deeply shaken by the episode with Maria which had driven us from Calgary to here, and Jasper had struggled to achieve the level of middling control he had now. But Edward, for once, had enjoyed happier times. His new understanding with Carlisle, thanks to Jasper, had eased the burden of guilt he carried and given him a new sense of belonging in the family to which he had always belonged. So when Carlisle asked him what he would like to study in this location, he had paused, listening to something from Carlisle's thoughts, and replied that he would like to study music. The sudden look of pride and love on Carlisle's face had been reward enough, I was sure. But Edward was freed to enjoy his studies for himself, and enjoy them he had. His major was Music with a concentration in Piano Performance.

I had thought that Edward's instructors wouldn't be able to teach him anything, but he assured me this was not the case. He threw himself into his studies with gusto, equally fascinated to listen to the minds of the professors and other students in the music department. Day after day he had come home, excited from his classes and eager to compose, or practice, or whatever was rabid on his mind at the time.

There had been a few challenges- the clarinet, for one. Edward and Rosalie had both been avid fans of Benny Goodman back in the early thirties, and Edward had always wanted to try the clarinet for himself. But now that he had finally gotten round to it, he was disappointed to discover that reed instruments and vampire mouths did not mix well. And he had been a bit disappointed to find that his new favorite, Rock and Roll, was frowned upon by nearly every member of the department. But he had had a grand four years, overall. Tonight was the culmination of his studies: his Senior Recital. This was the first time, at least in his second life, that Edward would play for such a large human audience and have his talent recognized with an auditorium full of applause. It was about time, too.

Edward's eyes finally opened as his song drew to a close. He smiled up at me with that adorable half-smirk of his, lightly trilling the first few notes of my song an octave too high. "If you had your way, it would be televised," he teased.

I raised my eyebrows. "Could we do that? Maybe a last-minute donation-"

"_Esme_," he moaned.

"I'm kidding!" I slapped him lightly on his sleeve of his jacket and moved closer behind him, sighing as I fiddled with his rebellious hair. _I don't suppose I could convince you to put in some pomade…_

Edward began playing again, but not before shooting me another mischievous look. "I threw it out."

"You didn't!"

"It smelled like rotten eggs!" he protested, batting my hand away from his hair. "You can't keep that stuff forever. And besides, the thirties are ancient history. I don't see you wearing your long gloves anymore."

"So what you're saying is, if I were to get out my gloves…"

"No deal," he said firmly.

"Oh, very well," I sighed, raking my fingers through his hair to try and convince it to part one more time- as if it would make a difference. "I suppose it does give you sort of a wild, romantic, artistic look-"

Edward stood up, dodging my hands again. "Ready?"

"_I'm_ ready. Girls?" I called up the stairs. Alice and Rosalie came down at their usual speeds: Alice almost a blur, stopping on a dime to check her hair once more in the hall mirror, Rosalie more slowly as she adjusted her jewelry. I passed Rosalie on my way up to retrieve Carlisle. I found him parked in his study, happily reading his new medical journals.

"Time to go," I said as I passed his doorway, heading to our bedroom to get my purse. I took the miniature rose I had gotten for Edward this morning out of its vase and nestled it into its little box. I walked by again to find my husband unmoved. "Time to go," I repeated more loudly.

"Hmm." He turned a page, his eyes wide with concentration.

"We're leaving."

"Hmm."

"I'm having an affair with the milkman."

"Hmm."

"_Carlisle!_"

"Right!" He jumped to his feet, blinking at the clock. "Oh, it's nearly six… aren't you ready yet, darling?"

I shook my head indulgently as I made my way back down the stairs. Carlisle could get so involved in his work that I had to call him at the hospital sometimes, just to remind him to come home and "sleep". I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Edward stood waiting by the door, gesturing for me to go out first. _Always the gentleman_, I thought lovingly, earning an eye-roll as Carlisle joined us downstairs. I turned toward the door to the basement as I put on my wrap. "Emmett!"

"Oh-_KAY!_"

A huge crash brought Carlisle and I running down the basement steps, and Edward muttering to himself as he went on out the front door alone.

"What _happened_?" I demanded as I surveyed the scene. Emmett was sprawled upside-down atop his workbench, which was broken to bits. A steady rain of drywall and plaster was falling on his head, coating him with its white powder. I looked forlornly up at the new jagged holed in the ceiling; at least the kitchen floor seemed to have been spared this time.

"You're a dead man," Emmett snarled, scrambling over the mangled bench to get at Jasper, who was wearing an expression of studied innocence. One of the larger pieces came along with him, thanks to his shoelaces, which were securely knotted around one of the table-legs- the latest installment, it seemed, in his and Jasper's ongoing prank-war. He stumbled over the mobile bench piece and fell again, settling for chucking the blowtorch- which was still on- right at Jasper's head. Jasper caught it neatly and extinguished the flame.

"I can explain," he began, holding up his hands in surrender. "Now, this all started when Emmett-"

"Later," I sighed, backing away and swiping at the drywall dust that had found my dress. "We'll deal with it later. Come _on_, Emmett!"

Emmett growled threateningly at Jasper one last time, who raised an eyebrow in challenge. He began to fumble with the knotted shoelace, then simply ripped it away to free himself. "Seven seconds," he yelled on his way up the stairs. "Time me!"

Carlisle was still staring at the gaping hole above, shaking his head. "How did the _ceiling_ end up a casualty in all this?"

"And _you_," I said sharply, turning back to Jasper, "can work on cleaning this up while we're out." His expression of innocence morphed into a wounded "who, me?" look. I felt myself begin to relax, but I narrowed my eyes. "Nice try. You're still cleaning it up."

"Yes ma'am," he drawled, grinning and tracing a lazy, cheerful salute across his brow before reaching for the nearest chunk of ceiling. I couldn't help but smile back on my way out; his antics with Emmett were adorable, even more so because I knew how happy it made him. Even as a human, he had never had much of a childhood, and then all those years of misery with Maria… he needed this. Even my good-natured scolding never failed to put a smile on his face. As long as the house didn't _fully_ collapse or go up in flames, they could have their fun. The blare of the horn on Edward's car greeted us when we finally made our way back out the front door.

"We're coming!" I shouted, holding my hands over my ears. Emmett blew past us on the front porch, zipping over to Rosalie's car and leaning casually against it, looking for all the world like he had been waiting there for hours.

"Seven seconds," he announced in triumph.

.

.

.

Edward drove like a maniac as usual, despite my insistence that he didn't really need a half hour to "warm up".

"I have to tune the piano before the recital. They never get it right," he protested, taking the next curve so wildly I was sure I could feel two wheels lifting off the ground. I shrieked and grabbed the dashboard with the one hand that wasn't holding the flower box. Carlisle, who was in the back with Alice, didn't even notice; he had brought his new medical journals along for the ride.

"Cop!" Alice announced abruptly. Edward slammed on the brakes, making my fingers leave a slight indentation in the dashboard. He clucked his tongue as we rolled by the police car, reaching across me to try and smooth the metal out.

"That's what you get for breaking the sound barrier!" I scolded him, only to gasp again as he gunned the accelerator, the second the policeman was out of sight behind us. He and Alice broke into simultaneous laughter a few seconds later. I gave Edward a questioning look.

"Rosalie and Emmett are getting pulled over," he reported gleefully.

"Hmm," was all Carlisle had to say, turning another page.

.

.

.

"You could've warned us about the speeding ticket," Rosalie grumbled to Alice as she and Emmett slipped into their seats behind us. We were sitting near the back; it might have been tradition for the pianist's family to sit up front, but it was wiser not to attract attention.

"Why are you sitting back there?" Carlisle asked, looking over his shoulder.

"No reason," Emmett yawned, snaking an arm behind Rosalie's back.

"This isn't a movie theater," I warned them. "I don't want to hear any necking going on back there during Edward's performance." Emmett gave me a look of innocence that matched the one Jasper had worn earlier. I turned back around, snatching the program out of Carlisle's hands before he had a chance to open it.

"I'll take that," I said, trying the look of innocence for myself. I peeked inside the program, smiling to see the line I wanted to hide from Carlisle until it was time.

**Edward London, piano**

**Senior Recital on May 17, 1955**

**Southern Oregon College**

**.**

**Suite bergamasque…..….Claude Debussy**

_No. 3, Clair de Lune_

**Transcendental Etudes…..… Franz Liszt**

_Nos. 1, 2, 7, 8, 10-12_

**"Heroic" Polonaise Opus 53 in A flat major…Frédéric Chopin**

**Just you, Just me…..…..arr. Nat King Cole**

_Original score by Jesse Greer_

_Leroy Watson on guitar_

_Matthew Lance on double bass_

**Boogie in the Dark….….. original arrangement**

_Original score by Jimmy Reed_

**_._**

**INTERMISSION**

**.**

**Eternal Hope….…..…original composition**

_for my father, Dr. Karl London_

_with deepest admiration and gratitude_

**Piano Sonata No.2, Opus 36…Sergei Rachmaninoff**

**.**

**This recital is presented in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Major in Music, Bachelor of Arts, Performance concentration**

**Please join us for refreshments immediately following the performance**

**.**

Carlisle checked his watch. "Nearly time," he said, indicating the flower box still in my hands.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" I stole backstage and found Edward enduring a pep talk from his adviser, Dr. Wells. He looked relieved to see me.

"You'll do wonderfully," I assured him for the sake of Dr. Wells, who also seemed glad to be interrupted. He excused himself with a little bow; it never ceased to amuse me how humans' manners always improved with their dress.

"He thinks I'm so nervous that I don't appear nervous," Edward reported under his breath, fidgeting as I straightened his tie.

"Are you?"

"What?"

He did look a bit uneasy. "Nervous?"

"Of course not. But I still don't think this was the best idea. It's bad enough having my name in print all over the place-" He fluttered a copy of the program in my face as evidence- "but there's a man sitting in the front row from the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. Apparently he's heard of me."

I frowned. "How?"

Edward gestured impatiently toward the curtain, behind which his adviser had disappeared moments ago. "Wells, I imagine. I _told_ him I was thinking about enlisting after graduation."

"Well, you can't blame him for wanting to show off the best pianist he's ever had the privilege of teaching."

"I'll have to muck it up somehow, to throw him off the trail."

"You most certainly will not!" I scolded. "There's nothing to worry about, especially as it's not your real surname. We'll be moving soon, anyway."

"The whole thing is unnecessary," he complained for what had to be the twentieth time. "It's not like I'll be hanging up the diploma anywhere-"

I laid my finger on his lips. "Edward. You are going to go out there and play as splendidly as you always do. It's high time you had an evening like this, where everyone can appreciate your music the way we always do." I fixed the rose to his lapel and tugged on his jacket, which he had already wrinkled by putting his hands in his pockets. Then I reached up and gave his hair a final comb-through, just to cheer him up. It worked; he grinned and dodged away as he always did.

"How is he?" Carlisle asked as I sat down again.

"A bit worried," I whispered, leaning closer. "About the publicity."

"We'll be leaving soon," Carlisle said with a shrug. "And it's not like it's his real name."

"That's what I said." After that awful business in Calgary, it was hard to get worked up over these things anymore.

The lights finally dimmed and the spotlight gleamed on the piano. We all applauded politely as Edward strolled out and bowed to the audience before taking his seat, flicking his tails out behind him on the bench. I let out a little sigh of relief; I had been sure he'd sit on them.

Edward held his hands over the keys, waiting as the lights dimmed further, and then began. The delicate first notes of Debussy's _Clair de Lune_ filled the room, soon accompanied by occasional sighs from young women in the audience. It really was unfair of him to be so handsome; I was sure they were quite distracted from the music. Many of them had dates but I was sure most of them were dreamily thinking of the dashing young pianist on the stage. Poor Edward!

I was glad he had convinced Dr. Wells to let him begin with this piece. It was tradition, apparently, for the pianist to begin with the most difficult piece in order to impress and astonish the audience. Not that this wasn't a difficult piece- far from it- but the first measures were relatively simple and unassuming. But Edward was more concerned about setting the right mood. And the magic had already begun. The restless fidgeting and paper-shuffling and throat-clearing and whispering of such a large group of humans suddenly quieted. All eyes were on Edward now, and I felt furiously proud to see it. The beauty of the piece drifted and flowed, the perfect setting for the sensitivity and gentleness Edward could play with.

He drew the song to a whispering close, his touch so delicate the audience were leaning forward in their seats, savoring the last notes. Then a mischievous glint sparked in Edward's eye. Instead of standing to receive applause, as he was supposed to, he pounded so suddenly into the first of Liszt's Transcendental Etudes with such ferocity that nearly everyone gasped and fell backwards into their seats. His fingers were soon flying so fast I worried the humans might see something amiss. But Dr. Wells looked content, if a bit shocked by Edward's little trick. He had his audience under a different spell now, one not unlike the dread and fascination that humans felt when we looked straight into their eyes.

"Now he's just showing off," Rosalie murmured to Emmett behind me. Her reluctant admiration was obvious.

The Etudes ebbed and flowed in complexity, quieting only to grow dangerously fast again in number eight. Edward's fingers were a blur now to the human eyes around us, but they could only stare in wonder. The final movements were much gentler. Edward finally stood and bowed serenely to his first round of applause, disappearing behind the curtain only briefly before coming out again.

The Chopin was next. This was Carlisle's favorite composer, and this was one of my favorite pieces Edward had ever played. I thought it sounded like a dance, light and positive. Edward had snorted at me when he first heard me thinking this, and informed me that he supposed it could be a dance, if the dancers were warhorses on parade. But dance or not, I loved to watch him play this one. He was now fully enjoying himself up on stage, his expression shifting with the song's energy and his posture majestic. His hands danced across the keys with the lilting rhythm. Our applause matched his enthusiasm.

When Edward came out again, he was accompanied by two of the other music majors. The next two songs would be played by the jazz trio that he and the two others had formed for a class project last spring. They had played together a few other times since then. Part of me had hoped that Edward had finally found some friends here in our new home. But he had been careful to keep Leroy and Matt at more than arm's length, only practicing with them at the school and shying away from social invitations until they stopped coming. He didn't need to explain why; Nick's death was still fresh in all our minds. It was for the best, I knew that… but still, I wished that it could have been otherwise. Edward would so have enjoyed spending more time with these young men, especially with their shared love of music. In any case, he seemed to have enjoyed the time they had spent together.

I closed my eyes and relaxed, leaning my head on Carlisle's shoulder as I listened. The first was light and lyrical, a love song, and of course I failed miserably at trying not to imagine Edward being in love someday. Another daughter, perched atop the piano and watching Edward with adoring golden eyes. Or maybe sitting beside him on the bench, leaning her head on his shoulder like I was now with Carlisle. All the applause in the world couldn't equal the feeling that would bring him, and I ached for him to have it someday. Someday soon. Up on stage Edward sighed his usual tolerant sigh, and I thought a new note of melancholy wove its way into the otherwise cheerful song. _Don't mind me_, I thought apologetically. _You know I can't help it sometimes. _He smiled vaguely in response, moving on and recapturing his previous mood. His fingers barely seemed to touch the keys.

The next song would close the first half, and was truly Edward's crowning achievement of his time here in the Music Program. Instead of following mainstream jazz over the past few years, he had become enamored with Rhythm and Blues. He had taken one of his favorite boogies and arranged it for the trio, just for this concert. Poor Dr. Wells had been scandalized by this selection, but had grudgingly allowed it, as the arrangement was at least free of drums and anything electric. And he could hardly refuse it, when Edward had been working on the arrangement for nearly six months in preparation for tonight. It would be a stretch to say that the arrangement was in any way _respectable_\- an opinion obviously shared by the older members of the audience- but I thought it was quite tastefully done. The younger crowd was certainly enjoying it, now twitching in their seats and tapping their feet. Emmett was drumming his fingers to the beat on the back of Rosalie's chair; Rosalie herself was leaning forward in her seat, watching Edward's fingers intently. And best of all, the trio on stage were now having the time of their lives. Matt was dancing in place with his double bass and Edward's eyes were squeezed shut as he rocked and swayed over the keys, grinning widely and nodding his directions to the others. It made his formal dress look absurd, but I couldn't be happier to see him have his fun.

This time the applause was long and energetic. Edward gestured to Leroy and Matt, who took their own bows, and as they all disappeared behind the curtain the lights came up. The humans were happy for the chance to stretch and chatter and visit the restroom.

"Oh!" Alice said suddenly, straightening in her seat. "Blood in a second!" All of us except Carlisle drew a quick breath and held it. An older lady, sitting up near the stage, had been checking her program again and turned the page too quickly. I felt my throat twinge as the new scent bloomed on the air and called to me. I distracted myself by focusing on a conversation a few rows ahead of us; a group of college girls were gushing over Edward. I was slightly annoyed that they were more impressed by his appearance than by his music, but I supposed they couldn't help it. He _was_ devastating in a tuxedo, tails or no.

"Good thing Jasper didn't come," Emmett said cheerfully once we were free to breathe again. His eyes were slightly darker than before. "What happened?"

"Paper cut," Carlisle murmured, casually watching the injured human across the auditorium to ensure his help wasn't needed.

"Edward's doing wonderfully, isn't he?" I said to no one in particular.

"Indeed he is," Carlisle agreed, reaching for the program in my hands. "What?" he asked as I snatched it away again, giving him a sultry smile instead. I knew how to distract him.

"Oh, nothing… so, anything interesting in the new journals today?"

He brightened instantly. For the rest of the intermission I was the recipient of a super-speed whispered summary of the latest innovations involving streptomycin, ultrasonic diagnostics and therapies, hydrocortisone, and half a dozen other long words. I nodded and smiled brightly when I thought it appropriate, too distracted with my excitement over the surprise Edward had for Carlisle, and over the surprise I had waiting for him at home. He wasn't the only one who had been eagerly watching the mail this week.

The lights dimmed and our applause welcome Edward back on stage, this time to the far corner's podium to use the microphone. He tapped it twice and leaned in to speak.

"I want to thank you all for coming tonight," he began, and was promptly interrupted by another round of applause and feminine sighs. A look of distaste briefly flashed across his face, but it was gone before another second passed. One of his many admirers, no doubt, accosting him with her thoughts. Poor boy. "For those who particularly enjoyed the earlier performance by our jazz trio, we'll be performing again for the senior recitals of Leroy Watson and Matthew Lance next Friday and Saturday, respectively. Before I conclude my own recital, I wish to thank the professors and staff who have inspired and helped me along during the past four years, and none more than my adviser, Dr. George Wells." Another round of applause as Edward waved his hand toward Dr. Wells, who stood and gave a gracious bow. "But my sincerest thanks are reserved for my family. They are the ones who have loved me, supported me, and tolerated my more discordant notes over the past years." The audience tittered in amusement. I merely took Carlisle's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart," Edward continued, running his eyes over the five of us. Then his eyes rested on Carlisle.

"In particular, my father Karl London. As some of you know, I was adopted at age fifteen by the Londons following the sudden death of my biological parents in a car accident. It was a difficult time for me, healing from my grief and… injuries, and adjusting to my new home. All my new family are dear to me, but Karl has been my inspiration from day one. He has helped me through my darkest times, believing in me when I couldn't believe in myself. His example has been my guide, and I am only here today because of his hopeful spirit. This composition, begun so long ago, is in his honor." His eyes dropped briefly, but then he looked again at Carlisle with a small smile and a grateful nod before returning to the piano. I finally let Carlisle see the program. But he could not look down to read it; he was staring at Edward, frozen in place as the first few notes began. I had heard Edward practice this song a thousand times, but it had always been when Carlisle wasn't home. Edward said he had begun this composition back in 1920, in gratitude for Carlisle's help throughout his newborn difficulties. But his disappointment in himself, and his bitter guilt over his years away, had left the song unfinished and unattended for many years.

He was only able to finish it recently, turning a simple, half-conceived melody into a beautiful three-movement sonata. This was the first time that Carlisle had heard most of it, and I didn't think he had known until tonight that it had been for him all along. And it meant more than it had back in 1920; now Edward was pouring out his gratitude not only for Carlisle's assistance in the beginning, but for his uncomplicated love and forgiveness that had stood every test Edward had put it through. He hadn't really believed in that love and forgiveness, not until Jasper had come and _made_ him believe in it. I was so grateful to my newest son for that; his humble intervention had helped Carlisle and Edward see each other so much more clearly. Carlisle finally had the peace of knowing that Edward truly did not blame him for anything, and Edward finally had the peace of knowing that Carlisle's admiration and forgiveness were as genuine as his love. I knew that Edward was still not ready to truly be grateful for the life that Carlisle had given him, itself. He still bore too many burdens for that. But at least now he could live that life without bearing those extra burdens he had invented. He could feel truly at home in the home that had welcomed him back so many years ago.

The song was, as its title proclaimed, a story of hope. Not the sturdy, solid, human kind, but an ethereal lightness that might not look real at first, but was in fact strong enough to stand the test of eternity, of inhuman challenge. The melody was delicate at first, simple chord progressions in triplets that rose and fell in succession, gaining strength with each ascent. The music swelled in richness and complexity as it went on, but never deviated much from its simple theme. Finally at its climax, the song was triumphant and almost forceful: the strength of hope against all odds. There wasn't a dry eye left in the human audience, and I ached to shed tears of my own. Edward's own eyes were gently closed. Somewhere in the middle of the second movement, Carlisle began to breathe again and finally picked up the program I had laid on his lap. He smiled down as he read it, his golden eyes drifting up again to watch his son. When the song came to a close, the last measures were just as hopeful, but in a surprising, expectant way; perhaps Edward hoped to add more someday? The audience seemed to be waiting for more, too, unsure if it was really over. When Edward finally stood, the applause began uncertainly at first, but as soon as Carlisle stood, others began to follow suit. When Edward straightened from his bow, I adored the look of humble surprise on his face as he realized he was receiving a standing ovation _before_ his last piece. As if he didn't deserve at least two!

I wished that the recital could end right there. But his final piece, the Rachmaninoff, was his own favorite, and the real meat of the program. It was about twenty minutes long, the way that Edward played it. I hated it. It wasn't the length, and it wasn't that there weren't some heartbreakingly beautiful segments. Admittedly, it was a wonderful showcase for Edward's versatility. It was just that I hated seeing him _play_ it. He had first discovered Rachmaninoff in the late twenties, and this song had blared through our house far too often in those months before his departure in '27. He had played it often upon his return as well, as he worked through whatever was going through his head in those days. I hated the exquisite look of pain he wore during those horrible, angsty sections, and I feared the dark anger that practically boiled over out of the piano with the violence of the final movement. It brought back too many memories, and made me wary of what memories might be going through _his_ head as he played. He had just expressed, through his own beautiful style, the newness and security he so treasured now; why did he have to keep returning to this piece?

Edward started the Rachmaninoff with a grand crash, snapping his audience back to attention as he had done with the Etudes in the first half. This piece at least had somewhat of a melody, I begrudged him. A dark, fiercely elegant one. It wasn't until it quieted down that I felt myself breathing again. Soon Edward's eyes were closed, his face twisted into that tortured look. This part would be beautiful, but for that look.

"Marvelous," Carlisle sighed beside me. I shrugged, crossing my legs the opposite way. "Still not your favorite?" he teased under his breath. I hummed in disapproval. "He needs this, you know," he went on. "Sometimes to feel the sun you have to stand in the storm for a while."

"Or drown in it," I sighed. Carlisle smiled, closing his eyes and obviously savoring every painful note that our son was coaxing out of the piano up there. He _would_ appreciate it; he always insisted on hanging those horrid paintings in his study right next to the normal ones. When I had asked him about it once, he had replied that he thought it important to remember the road he could have gone down, as an inspiration for the road he sought to travel. That was all well and good for a man like Carlisle; I just worried that Edward sometimes confused _inspiration_ with _meditation_. But for both their sakes I lifted my chin and forced myself to watch Edward every second for the rest of the piece. I could literally see the tension rise and fall in the way he held himself as he played, despite what was going on in his face. I supposed his pain could be due to the unbearable beauty of this part of the song… but I didn't think so.

If nothing else, it was good he _had_ the piano, even if it sometimes precipitated his moods, as well as released them. I hated to think what form of expression he would have chosen otherwise. I felt myself tense as he entered the stormiest portion of the final movement, but I was determined to see it through. His fingers were once again flying, this time with such fury I was afraid he would tear the piano to bits right in front of everyone. The humans were tense, too, sitting forward in their seats again but with dread in their eyes and accelerated pulses. Edward seemed to be _trying_ to outpace himself. The phrases grew more and more frantic as he approached the end, and for once I let the music lift me off the ground and carry me along with it. I remembered having this feeling once before, when I was a newborn. I was racing Edward home from a hunt- a hopeless effort, even with my newborn speed. But I was determined to see how fast I could go. The world blurred past until it was nothing but color, and still I ran faster, equally exhilarated and horrified at how inhuman I had become.

Edward's wide eyes reflected both those feelings now, and I began to wonder if this song did, in fact, speak to him of a different kind of hope. Carlisle's song reflected his gentle determination; this one poured out of a more furious, frightened resolve. I caught my breath as he entered the final sprint. The end came suddenly, the horror turning to majesty at the last possible second. There was no uncertainty this time; we were all on our feet, roaring our applause. Edward was standing too, the last burst having thrown him right off the bench. His bow was as calm as could be, but his eyes were still wide with surprised exhilaration; I didn't think he had ever played that piece with such abandon before. The applause grew even louder and he bowed a second time before disappearing behind the curtain for good.

The humans recovered quickly, gathering their programs and purses and things. It took our family a little longer to thaw, finally turning to each other. Rosalie was still staring at the piano.

"Refreshments!" Emmett guffawed, pointing to the last line of his program and bringing us all back to reality. "Maybe some of the audience would volunteer?" Rosalie gave him a shove and Carlisle pressed his lips together in disapproval, gesturing toward the humans that were within earshot. "Seriously, do we _have_ to?" Emmett moaned.

"For a little while," I answered. "And then maybe you two could catch the end of that other concert." I turned to Carlisle as we waited for our row to clear. "Did you like your surprise?" I asked him with a smile.

"Very much," he replied, his eyes shining. "I've always wondered where he was headed with that song."

He found Edward first at the reception, which was held out in the entrance hall. They stood silently for a moment, Edward staring intently at Carlisle and then murmuring something in response. He was even handsomer than before, his hair wilder from the end of the performance and his eyes bright with energy.

"Wonderful," I told him as he finally let me drag him into a hug.

"Have I redeemed the Rachmaninoff for you, then?" he asked, grinning. But we were separated by the press of the crowd; he was soon fending off human admirers. Carlisle and I left him to it and went to accept glasses of champagne.

"Mrs. London!" I sighed and turned around, choosing a slightly dangerous smile for Dr. Wells as he scrambled up to me. He stopped in his tracks and sweat beaded on his forehead, but he persisted. "A magnificent performance!" he wheezed, reaching for my hand and then thinking better of it. "My congratulations! And you too, Doctor!" He was brave enough to shake Carlisle's hand vigorously.

"And our thanks to you as well," Carlisle said kindly, wringing his hand free. "Edward has always spoken highly of your instruction."

"Then take my advice," Dr. Wells insisted. "Talk him out of this nonsense about enlisting. Conservatories were made for talents such as Edward's, and I have a friend here tonight from San Francisco who was most impressed. I'd like you to meet him." He waved to a tall man in spectacles, who began making his way over to us. "Their graduate program-"

"Edward is most eager to serve his country," Carlisle interrupted. "It has always been a dream of his to play for the Armed Forces."

"They'll waste him!"

"Edward will do as he sees best," I said with finality. "And we will support him fully."

"Which branch?" Dr. Wells wondered.

"Oh, he's undecided," I said vaguely, fearing another arranged meeting.

"A young man with this level of talent needs direction," the tall man offered, finally entering the conversation. Edward began to approach us, but grimaced and turned on his heel when he saw the ambush waiting for him.

_Run while you can!_ I thought, sending him a teasing smile. He grabbed Alice's shoulder, pulling her over toward the dessert table.

We eventually extricated ourselves from the fawning attention of Edward's professors and admirers, to find that he had indeed made his escape. "He went with Rosalie and Emmett to the concert," Alice reported, holding up and jangling the keys to the Mercedes. "After they stop at home to change, of course."

"I'll drive," Carlisle announced, snatching them from her hand. I sighed in relief; it wasn't that Alice wasn't a good driver… most of the time. But she had a disturbing tendency to get lost in visions _while_ driving at ungodly speeds. She pouted, but let the keys go.

We had a much calmer drive home. I was pleasantly surprised to find the basement in nearly perfect condition when we arrived; Jasper was just rolling on the second coat of ceiling paint. Alice ran up behind him and pounced, locking her arms around his neck.

"Let's go up to our lookout point," she whispered in his ear. "There's going to be a meteor shower."

"All right," he agreed. He grabbed a quick shower while Alice changed into her next outfit, and they were off.

I found Carlisle in the living room, trailing his fingers along the keys of Edward's piano. "Do you think he'd like a concert grand at home?" he asked.

"Maybe someday." I moved closer, touching his arm. "I wish _you_ could serenade me on the piano."

Carlisle laughed. "I _can_ play, you know."

I blinked, dropping my hand. "What?"

Carlisle looked equally surprised. "You know I studied music, back when I was first in France."

"But you distinctly said that you and the piano had never gotten along."

"I did," he agreed. "But that doesn't mean I never learned."

"Carlisle, are you trying to tell me that we've been married for thirty-four years and all this time, you could play the piano, and you never _told_ me?!"

"I wouldn't call it playing," he protested, looking suddenly very awkward. "It's not something you'd want to hear."

"Which means, of course, that I _must_ hear it, immediately!"

Carlisle sighed in defeat, digging through Edward's piano bench. "I assure you, you'll regret asking."

"I'll be the judge of that. This one," I decided, pointing to a book of Schumann. Carlisle closed the bench and sat, turning the pages until he found something he liked. He moved aside and invited me to join him, which I did. Carlisle held his hands above the keys, rather stiffly I thought, and began to play.

It wasn't incorrect, exactly. It was just… bland. There was absolutely no life at all in the music. Carlisle took one look at my face and began making mistakes, fumbling at notes which weren't even on the page.

I bit my lip. "Good heavens."

"I warned you," he said uncomfortably, and his playing grew even worse.

"What are you doing to that poor music? I've never learned to read it, but I'm sure those notes don't belong in there."

"I just don't have it- whatever makes people good at this. I can't bring it to life."

"But surely you can read the music?"

"I can, but then I hear how dull it sounds and I try to make it better, and it never turns out right." I wrinkled my nose, staring at his fingers as they tangled and stumbled along. I laughed suddenly, leaning harder into his shoulder.

He stopped playing, looking slightly hurt. "What?"

"You're actually _not good_ at something! I think it's marvelous!" I kissed his cheek, trying to erase the hurt. "It's a gift, darling, don't you see? Most things are so easy for us, it's exciting to encounter a skill that confounds us. You can't imagine how nervous I get whenever I try a new recipe- I truly have no way of knowing if it'll come out right, since it all smells and tastes so terrible."

"But your cooking _does_ come out right," he protested.

"That's what the humans say, but maybe they're just being polite. I'll never really know. It's amazing, to be able to feel so uncertain."

Carlisle pulled me even closer. "Do you know what else is amazing? We actually have this entire house to ourselves."

"Hmm…. It's the perfect time for you to finish reading your journals, isn't it? And I could wrap up that design for-" I shrieked as Carlisle grabbed my shoulders and spun me around and up onto the piano. A new chaotic song rang out as he trampled the keys, climbing up to kiss my throat. "Don't you dare!" I gasped, "Edward's Steinway!"

"We'll be careful," he breathed, burying his hands in my hair and silencing my protest with a kiss. But I squirmed away just enough to breathe again, giggling.

"No, stop! I have a surprise for you." That stopped him long enough for me to slip out of his hands scrambling away over the end of the piano.

"Don't tell me _you've_ written a song too." He waited curiously, though his eyes were dark with longing. Maybe after the surprise, we would watch the meteor shower, too. We hadn't made love on the roof in at least a year, after all…

"Come on, I'll show you," I began. "No, wait! You stay here. I'll call you up when I'm ready." I dashed upstairs, throwing aside the pile of mending I had arranged over the enormous package that had arrived yesterday. I paused, smiling and wincing all at once as Carlisle's awful piano-practice carried through the house. I hefted the box up on my shoulder and was soon ready in his study. "You can come up now!" I called. The music stopped.

"I didn't expect you to be hiding in this room," Carlisle began, but his foot paused on the threshold. No doubt he also hadn't expected to find me wearing a hospital gown and perched on top of a cardboard box. "I'm confused," he admitted, finally coming in.

"Open it!" I ordered, unable to stand to wait any longer. He sliced through the twine and tape with a fingernail and began to unearth the cushioned contents of the package. His eyes suddenly blazed with excitement and he let out a little cry as he saw his brand-new Ultrasound machine.

"How did you… this is… Esme!" he kissed me soundly and then shredded the rest of the box away from his new treasure.

"I have my own sources," I said coyly.

"This is too much!"

I laughed, dizzy with happiness over the rapture on his face. "Says the man who bought me an island! Well, aren't you going to try it? Your patient is ready!" I held one arm out with a flourish, using my other hand to smooth the hideous gown as though it were the blue satin I had worn earlier.

"I've always wondered how vampire tissue would appear in ultrasonography!" he exclaimed, tearing at the packaging to set it up.

Of course he had. He read through the manual at lightning speed and we soon made the discovery that vampire skin was completely impervious to diagnostic Ultrasound waves, no matter how shallow an area he tried. Carlisle pronounced this incredible.

"I've never seen anyone so excited to see nothing," I teased him later as we lay on the roof, watching the meteor shower. I liked to pretend they _were_ falling stars, tumbling down in a dance that only they understood. It was a ballet, a heavenly show put on for us, the only two people in the world.

"I thought I would at least see something more than with X-ray," he murmured, lost in thought. "It's still such a mystery, what we're made of. I don't suppose we'll ever know."

"Does it matter?" I asked the sky. "I think what truly matters is what we make _with_ this life, don't you?"

"I do," he murmured, gazing into my eyes with love and wonder. He was still so amazed, after all these years, that I _did_ enjoy listening to him chatter endlessly about medical particulars… still so grateful that I _did_ understand what he was trying to do with this strange world we found ourselves in. I tenderly touched his face, in turn still amazed, after all these years, that my dream had come true. That I was here with him. He turned his face up to the stars again, an odd smile forming.

"What is it?"

"I was just trying to imagine what my reaction would have been, fifty years ago, had someone told me how full my life would soon be."

I snuggled closer. "I wonder where we'll be fifty years from now."

"Here," Carlisle mused. "Somewhere under the stars."

"Don't forget your promise to take me to the moon someday," I reminded him solemnly.

"Someday," he vowed, running his fingers slowly through my hair as he watched the sky. The heavenly ballet went on above us, bright and full of promise of things to come.


	27. 1950: Jaundice

**First an exciting note on the Outtakes: **

**I think most of you have seen it by now, but I have a new story up and running: a canon-friendly AU called _Sic Semper Tyrannis. _Basically Jasper's story changes course in late 1941, a few days after Peter comes and tells him the truth so he can escape Maria and her lies. He ends up becoming a Volturi Guard and all kinds of craziness happens. But those first three and a half chapters are actually still in canon, since the AU split doesn't happen until Chapter 4. So here in the Index for the Tale of Years Outtakes I've made a note that those three chapters can actually be read as canon prequel one-shots set in 1941. The first one is a "day in the life" of Jasper's last weeks with Maria, including a battle. The second covers the tension rising between him and Maria in those dangerous last couple weeks, and Peter's arrival. The third and fourth cover his first couple days with Peter and Charlotte. So even if you're not particularly interested in the AU story itself you might enjoy those first couple chapters as canon one-shots, or a little 3.5-chapter story about Jasper escaping Maria, if you want to think of it that way.**

**Anyway, back to Tale of Years and Maria! This is her POV of the Calgary Incident. This matches up with the last few chapters of the 1950 story. I had a lot of readers request this one, so I hope you all enjoy! :) **

* * *

**Maria POV**

**late fall 1950**

If someone had told me twenty years ago that I would ever have stooped this low, I'd have killed them where they stood. It was humiliating enough to be traipsing around North America just to fetch home the only one of my creations who had ever been worth the effort, but to have to do it with _these_ two losers was just disgusting.

Carlos, I could handle. He was stupid enough to believe every word I said, even when I changed my story from one day to the next. It had been a balancing act to slowly introduce him and Paul to something resembling the truth: that, true, the Wars weren't technically _everywhere_, but you still needed protection-an experienced guide- because you never knew where the hot spots were from day to day. That there were, admittedly, a few pitiful vampires who eked out a living between the cracks, who skulked along the edges of the human world, but they were always on the run from the warring covens and their scouts. After more than a year of searching and finding stale vampire scent only twice in that time, I'd been obliged to change the story again. Okay, maybe there aren't any hostilities in Northern Canada, not right _now_. I invented vague rumors of devastating battles, massacres by the Volturi, vampire migrations due to human politics, anything to explain why my earlier lies were steadily being disproven. Carlos always blinked and believed.

Paul was more of a headache. I had chosen him as my latest second because he _had_ half a brain, but apparently that had been a mistake. He asked too many questions, had too many ideas, and generally got under my skin. His latest brainwave went something like "hey, since there's nobody up here, why don't we stake a claim and forget all about Mexico?" At which point I patiently reminded him that the whole point of this little trip was to regain my… _our_ territory in Mexico, and that if I thought the Canada thing would have worked I would have done it years ago, and that he really should let me do the thinking and that if he didn't shut up I'd use his tongue for kindling.

And then there was the fact that despite my efforts to the contrary, Paul _still_ thought I was in love with him. You would think that would keep him in his place, but no. He thought that entitled him to help me run this three-man circus. You would also think repeated threats of death and disfigurement would discourage him, but some men are a little dense when it comes to these kinds of things. So I gave up and decided to keep up the pretense when it seemed profitable, occasionally giving him some one-on-one attention when Carlos was sent to feed. It kept him happy enough, and then when he got thinking a little too highly of himself I'd switch it up and pretend to be nauseous whenever he touched me. Then for the final touch I'd feign a little interest in Carlos, just before coming back around and restarting the whole thing. His insecure whining was pathetic but the game kept him on his toes, while keeping him close.

Not that Carlos was quality company either. Oh, he was secretly in love with me, they always are, though he was content to let Paul and me handle the romance side of the drama. It was just that he was so stupid and useless that his very presence was a glaring daily reminded of how low I'd sunk. How little I had left, that I had to keep him alive just so I'd have enough obedient muscle to protect myself and to get Jasper home when we found him. _If_ we found him.

I really thought it would work, at first. If I were Jasper, I would have hightailed it to the opposite end of the continent, started myself an army, and staked a claim- a lot like Paul's idea. But I had forgotten how Jasper's mind worked. He was infinitely smarter than someone like Paul, and his intelligence was as subtle as his gift. For all I knew he'd left the Western Hemisphere years ago. But what choice did I have, other than to keep trying?

I was waiting on a park bench with Paul while Carlos ducked inside the Visitor Center, having a snack and getting us a map of the area. We had spent the past year searching the northern territories, British Columbia and the northern half of Alberta. Now we were steering south, curling down toward Calgary and the Rockies again. It was more likely that Jasper was closer to the cities in Ontario or Quebec, but I wasn't ready to take Paul and Carlos near anything like that. For one, they'd lose their heads with all the blood to be had, and two, they'd just see more holes in my explanations. I had brought them up and around in a tortuous line, heavily hinting that my vast experience had taught me the best route through the fighting- they'd either need to be slowly brought around closer to reality, or they would need to be replaced. For now, it was best to stick to the wilderness and hope for the best.

"We've been at this for a while now…" Paul began. The biggest downside to playing with his gullible heart was that when we were in an "off" phase, he talked a lot more.

"Spoken like a newborn," I scoffed. "Once you've grown up a bit more, you'll think in terms of decades and not years."

"We're wasting our time," he said sullenly, kicking his bare toes at a loose rock in the gravel. "He could be anywhere in the world by now. And Carlos is slowing us down."

I smirked to myself. This again. Best play along if I wanted another month of unquestioning obedience and less talking. "I've been thinking about that," I said slowly, as if my mind worked as sluggishly as his own. He shut up instantly, gazing at me with renewed hope. He leaned in, cautiously putting a hand on my shoulder and dropping his voice to a whisper.

"We could do it tonight," he offered slyly. "We could forget the whole thing and find a little place here in the mountains…" I clenched my teeth as his fingers crept around the back of my neck, but I twisted my expression just enough to encourage him.

"But I'm afraid," I murmured, leaning slightly into his shoulder. "Only two? We'd be so vulnerable."

"We can handle anything. And there's no one around. We wouldn't even need to create anyone else. We could live out our eternity in peace, just the two of us."

_Oh, joy_, I thought caustically. "I don't know," I pouted, swinging my feet underneath the bench. "Not yet."

"Trust me," he insisted, leaning closer. I let him kiss me for three seconds and then pushed him away before I bit him out of sheer disgust. He grinned and stood to pace around, looking like he had actually _won_ something.

I should have bitten him. Moron.

"I found him!" Carlos called as he walked back towards us, map in hand.

"What?" I hissed, spinning around.

"See?" Carlos laughed, pointing to a green smudge on the map. "Jasper National Park."

I wanted to slap him so badly, but he was so tall I couldn't reach his face without the indignity of jumping up in the air. "You really think you're funny, don't you?" I asked coolly.

"It's worth a try," he said, looking wounded. "If you saw a park with your name written all over it, wouldn't you want to settle there?"

"Now why didn't I think of that?" I asked coldly, shooting a commiserating glare over to Paul before storming off. "And clean your face, you look like you just stepped out of a low-budget horror film."

Carlos jogged to catch up to us, wiping his bloodied chin with a pile of leaves. "So, Jasper National Park?"

"Why not?" I sighed, turning southeast. It was time to start turning my favor back toward Carlos again anyway, or Paul would actually expect me to go along with his ridiculous cottage-in-the-woods daydream. I knew this game couldn't go on forever- realistically, it would be a safer bet to have Carlos help me kill Paul, and then just abandon him. I wasn't about to risk my skin taking on someone that size without the support of at least two, and leaving Paul alive would be more dangerous in general. The question was, should I add a third before eliminating either of them? I didn't _want_ to get rid of Carlos, though- if we really did find Jasper, I needed his bulk and unquestioning obedience. But if I had to start over completely, I would do it. I didn't want another Nettie-and-Lucy episode, especially not without Jasper's gift to keep me posted on who was in the mood to kill who.

We picked our way through the bush for a few more hours. Once the sun was up, I had the _glamorous_ pleasure of not only untangling myself from spider webs and trailing vines, but of spitting out insects every few seconds, and my hair was turning into a comedy act. This climate was just revolting. Once I got Jasper back, he was going to suffer- not only for his betrayal but for every miserable day I was spending looking for him.

And wouldn't you know it, here he was.

I froze mid-stride, nose in the air. "Jasper," I breathed, my fists clenching at my sides. I couldn't believe it! Paul and Carlos circled back, confused by the grin spreading over my face.

"He's here?" Paul asked, looking around. "I don't smell anyone."

"That's because you're still in diapers," I snapped, all pretense at indulging him forgotten. I pressed on into the scent trail, moving slowly so as not to lose the faint tease on the air. I panicked for a moment when a breeze stirred up and snatched it away, but then we found it again.

"I smell it," Carlos announced a few seconds later. Paul immediately boasted that he had smelled it five seconds ago.

"No you didn't," Carlos sulked.

"Did too," Paul hissed, letting a lacy tree branch slap back into Carlos' face. Carlos lunged for him, snarling. Oh, I couldn't wait to get rid of these two!

"Cut it out," I ordered, moving on. "This isn't the time." I heard a few thunderous crashing sounds behind me but I didn't dignify their childishness with any further attention. They finally shut up and we began to move faster, following Jasper's scent southward. It wasn't exactly fresh; maybe a week or two. I couldn't _believe_ my luck! This was actually going to happen. I'd try reasoning with him first, and if that didn't work…

I paused again, scowling. Two more scents were now tangled with Jasper's: one was a sickeningly adorable combination of honey, lilac and sunshine, while the other was a more respectable, woodsy aroma reminiscent of pine sap. They smelled about as stale as Jasper's. I snarled quietly, torn between anger and an embarrassing sense of possessiveness. It was one thing for Jasper to be out here, free and lonely and miserable. It was another for him to be making friends and _enjoying_ that undeserved freedom. I wondered for a second if he might have created these two, but I seriously doubted it. Self-control was hardly one of his finer qualities. A mate? But then who was the third? Or maybe the other two were a pair…

"What?" Paul griped, stopping beside me.

"There are two more with him," I said tightly.

Carlos sniffed, standing taller and sticking out his massive chest. "We can handle it." Paul nodded his assent, not willing to be outdone. Well, that was easy.

"Of course we can," I agreed lightly. "We'll just have to be more careful. If they're all together, keep your distance. I'll do some talking first, and we'll attack when, and _only_ when, I give the signal. Remember, I want to bring him back without a fight if possible. Got that?" They nodded grudgingly. It was time for a little inspiration. "This is it," I announced, turning around to face them with a dazzling, promising grin. "Things are about to change. We'll make our way back down to Northern Mexico and start rebuilding the army immediately. We should be ready for battle before three months is out, what with Jasper…" _running things again? That won't sound too inspiring._ "…there to help us. I'll set him to work managing the wilder newborns at first- his gift is good for that sort of thing. Paul, you'll be in charge of teaching strategy to those who can handle it. Carlos, you'll be the drill instructor, in charge of discipline and reinforcing essential skills on a nightly basis." I blabbed on, filling their ears with whatever I thought would help. If Jasper gave me a hard time, I might need to keep them alive for a while. It might be helpful if Jasper's two new friends could come along for the ride… I didn't want any divided loyalties, but on the other hand killing them probably wasn't the best way to regain his good will. Why did he have to complicate this?!

We picked through the woods more slowly and quietly now, following the three scents. I finally found a footprint- a _shoed_ print, of all things- which told us we were heading in the right direction along the scent trail. It looked to be about Jasper's size, too. We picked up the pace after that; Carlos and Paul were getting worked up as my flattering speech got more and more ridiculous. I was just in the middle of inventing an official title for each of them when the wind changed, stopping all three of us in our tracks. There weren't three of them.

There were _seven_ of them.

Jasper had gotten himself an army.

.

.

.

After a few rounds of nasty words and arguments, we pressed on anyway. There was _no way_ that Jasper had created an entire army. He wasn't ambitious enough, for one thing, and while I could _maybe_ see him pulling off one successful transformation, the emotional fallout would have prevented a second. I truly couldn't imagine him wrangling a batch of newborns, keeping them fed, _and_ putting himself through the transformation process six times- or however many tries it would have taken. _I_ couldn't have done all that alone, back when I was first starting out, and I didn't have his handicap. He had to have found an army already up and running and joined them.

The other possibility was too frightening to acknowledge- that he was going around North America recruiting mature nomads into an army- because I only had one guess as to what his final goal might be in that case: vengeance against _me_. As if I hadn't given him _life_, as if I hadn't bent over backwards for eighty years to accommodate him every time his gift got in the way! But honestly, I couldn't really imagine that was what he was about. It was more likely he had stumbled upon an existing army and offered his services, eager for the protection of allying himself to a local power. He wasn't used to wandering, after all; even if he had tried the nomadic life at first, I wouldn't be surprised if he had found himself uncomfortable without an established territory. Well, if he hadn't run away from home like a naughty child in the first place he wouldn't have had that problem.

But in that case, my curiosity was reason enough to risk this encounter. I hadn't heard of armies in the north! I really needed to keep up with the newspapers more. I supposed it made sense that having a second World War had stirred things up in the vampire world… but then, there hadn't been any fighting here in the mainland U.S. I was surprised, and more than a little disgusted at the territory which Jasper had attached himself to now. He'd thank me, eventually, for bringing him back home where you could actually _breathe_ the air and see more than ten feet in front of you.

I had a problem, though- there was almost no chance of a fight going my way now, not if all seven were together. It was possible, I told Carlos and Paul, that the scents weren't related, had been laid down at different times, but that was only a lie to keep them moving. If I wasn't lucky enough to catch Jasper alone, I'd settle for meeting his new army and getting a feel for it all. Maybe I could offer a trade- Paul and Carlos for Jasper. Though that would only work if Jasper was fully agreeable, because then I'd have no one to help manage him… I discarded that possibility. Hopefully I'd be able to discern the existing hostilities within the group and use that to my advantage. If nothing else, I would just learn what I could and retreat, scoping out the area and watching until we were able to catch him out alone. But success was too close to turn back now- I'd risk everything and wait as long as it took. This _had_ to happen.

We were upon them soon enough. We paused again as soon as we were within visual range, scanning the steamy forest for escape routes before moving forward. It was a little disturbing to find them ready and facing us in formation: Jasper out in front of an organized line. Three mated pairs, with wedding rings to boot, sparkling along with their skin. Now _that_ was an interesting arrangement. But were they newborns or not? I drew forward a bit more, signaling for Carlos and Paul to follow as I squinted to see their eyes.

No, not newborns. At least their eyes didn't glow with the telltale brightness of infancy… but as I drew closer, my instincts shivered as I saw their eyes more clearly. They were dark… _yellow_? And something was wrong with Jasper's eyes, too- they were red enough, but something seemed off. Almost an orange tint… what the hell?! What was wrong with these people, and what had they been doing to Jasper? But first things first. I looked down the line again, sizing everyone up.

A tall, skinny redheaded male was on the left, not quite full grown, nervously clutching his mate's hand- as if killing her would be worth the effort. She was even skinnier, and so tiny she made Peter's mini-mate Charlotte look like a ready soldier. Her awful haircut was an interesting feature, though… I wondered if she was a runaway from the Wars like Jasper, though she didn't have any visible scars.

Directly behind Jasper were an older pair- older physically, anyway- and the male's eyes were an even sicklier yellow than the others. But there was no mistaking the seriousness in those eyes, and the threat; he was the leader. No doubt about it. Jasper might be standing out in front but he couldn't fool me.

Off to the right was an imposing couple. The female was blonde and tall, dressed like she had just stepped out of a magazine- but the danger in her posture told me what I needed to know. And her mate… well, I'd let Carlos handle that one if it came to it. He was enormous, and though his face was blank I could just tell he was aching to put those huge muscles to good use. This pair had potential on the battlefield, if they could be persuaded to come along with Jasper. Then we could get rid of Paul right off the bat, and see if Carlos was worth keeping or not. The scents were too muddled to tell which two had been Jasper's companions up to the northwest, where we had first found his scent. I wished I could tell that- it might be useful in sorting out who he trusted and who he didn't.

"Hello, Maria," Jasper said. He held himself loose but ready, his expression neutral. No new scars, but like the others he was clean and wore fine clothes and shoes. His hair was even combed.

I smiled, willing myself to feel as calm and amicable as I knew how. I had forgotten how annoying it was to have to play-act for the sake of his gift. He had always been a gullible fool, even _with_ that gift, but it was time for my star performance now. "Jasper," I answered sweetly.

"Hey, Carlos." I snapped my eyes over to the right again, frowning to see that the words had been spoken by the big male. How could he have possibly known Carlos' name? Someone was gifted besides Jasper, but who? It had to be something about their eyes. But they couldn't all share a gift, though, surely. And how did that explain Jasper's eyes? What was _wrong_ with these people? I scanned down the line again, observing everything I could. Even with their strange eyes muddling their age, it was obvious none of them were newborns- they were far too controlled.

"You're a long way from home," Jasper said drily, with a hint of a childish smirk. "Things going that badly?"

It seemed the false pleasantries were over already. Fine.

"I've taken time off before," I snapped. "The question is, what are _you_ doing up here? And don't try to tell me you created them all, because we both know you're not capable of that."

The leader released his mate and stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jasper. "This is Carlisle," Jasper announced, nodding his head slightly toward him. I studied Carlisle, equally disgusted and intrigued by his strange eyes. Since they were paler than the others, I wondered if he was the gifted one. It would certainly explain how he managed to keep control over so many mature vampires- three of whom looked as though they could take him out in a second. My instincts burned to retreat from this new danger, but I hadn't come this far to run away just because things got difficult.

Jasper turned toward his new leader slightly, but never broke eye contact with me. "Carlisle, this is Maria, the vampire who created me."

Oh, so I wasn't to have the pleasure of being introduced to all his new little friends? Pity.

"Welcome," said Carlisle. "This is my wife, Esme," he continued, gesturing behind him. "Rosalie and Emmett"- he waved toward the imposing couple on the right- "and Edward and Alice."

Well, at least someone around here had some manners. I had better remember mine, if I wanted a productive end to this nonsense. "And what is your territory, Carlisle?" I asked politely. "I wouldn't want to cause offense."

"You can stop pretending," the tiny female, Alice, spat out. "We know the real reason you're here." Well, little miss had a mouth bigger than she was herself.

"We have no permanent settlement," Carlisle said vaguely, ignoring Alice's outburst. "And thus lay no claim to territory, as you are accustomed to. This is because we do not feed on human blood."

I laughed. The sickly eyes suddenly made sense. "And what do you drink instead? Animal blood?"

"Yes."

Oh, this was too much. Anyone with a moderate spark of intelligence could deduce that we could drink animal blood- it was _blood_, after all- but it looked like Jasper's new friends had made a habit out of it. I'd done it once myself, just out of curiosity- horrid stuff. My confidence was beginning to return- I'd given animal blood to my soldiers before, and the results were pretty unimpressive. There was a reason I'd stopped doing it long before Jasper came along.

"_You've_ fed on animals?" This time it was Alice's red-headed mate, Edward, that was speaking out of turn. Maybe _he_ was the gifted one, then. Good to know.

"What?!" Jasper hissed, inching forward. His pretended calm was suddenly gone.

"Of course," I said, pleased at having made him react. "And I experimented with it in the past for my creations, in times when hunting was difficult. I've even tried it myself. But that was before your time."

"You might have mentioned there was another way," Jasper all but snarled. "all those times you saw me suffering! Considering the pack of _lies_ you fed me…"

Oh, cry me a river. Of course Jasper had jumped at the chance to feed on animals, so he could feed without side effects. "It's a poor substitute," I sighed. "We certainly never did it for very long. It made the newborns weaker, less effective in battle. I wasn't aware there were other side effects," I added, peering again at Carlisle's yellow eyes. Disgusting.

"It is true that feeding on animals makes our eyes this color," Carlisle said. "But I'm afraid you are quite mistaken about it being a poor substitute. I have fed exclusively on animals for two hundred and eighty-seven years, and taught my creations to do the same."

_Jasper isn't your creation!_ I thought fiercely. _He's MINE._

"The lighter eye color and steadier emotional state allow us to live alongside humans, and enjoy as normal a life as possible," Carlisle droned on. "I work as a physician at our local hospital, and the younger ones attend school. We simply move and make a new start before our lack of aging is noticed."

Seriously? They did this so they could play _human_? I glanced over their fancy clothes and polished shoes again, trying not to laugh. This was going to be easier than I had thought. Everyone was too controlled for me to pick apart who hated who, but the difference in Jasper's eyes was telling. If this Carlisle valued the goodwill of the humans so much, I'd be happy to take his biggest liability off his hands.

"Your newest acquisition doesn't appear to be very good at your yellow-eyed way of life, Carlisle," I began.

"I'm learning," Jasper muttered. But I was rewarded with a faint doubt in his eyes that hadn't been there a moment ago. His red irises darkened slightly, and he swallowed. My poor Jasper- he had obviously had a good meal more recently than the others, but he had to be famished. I could remedy that.

"And _this_ is the life you have chosen, over the one I made for you? A homeless wanderer, spitting out fur and starved for real blood? Newest and lowest in the perverse coven you've attached yourself to, and playing with humans your greatest goal? You were made to be more than that! You were made to command the most terrifying force ever to-"

"-rule the bloodfields of a land stretching from ocean to ocean, yes," Jasper interrupted. "Curious, though… I also seem to remember you telling me that the Wars covered the earth. That every vampire in existence was a member of one army or another. That there was no freedom to be had apart from _you_ and your worn-out vendetta, and that violence was the only way!"

"You needed guidance," I said hurriedly, before he could ruin any more of my strategy that kept Carlos and Paul close and loyal. "You wouldn't have lasted a _week_ without me, if one of the others had found you. I taught you to survive!"

Jasper was close to losing it. He leaned down just slightly into a crouch, but his fists were clenched. "What you _taught_ me was to wallow in blood and kill everything in my path! You watched me suffer every time I fed, when _you knew the entire time that there was another way!_ You taught me to be a mindless weapon in your hand, to serve you like a blind fool!"

"Because you _were_ a fool!" I snarled back, but I caught myself and straightened back up. Manners. It wouldn't do to pick a fight, not here. Jasper's new friends might be delusional but there _were_ seven of them. I wouldn't be surprised if he was using his gift on me right now, trying to get me to overstep myself. _Nice try._ I might not be gifted but I knew how to draw him along. I knew what he wanted. I drew a sharp breath through my clenched teeth, letting it out slowly.

"All right," I said, once I was calm again. "If you're still so enamored with the idea of freedom, then come back with me. Things can be different this time- you'll have your own territory. I'll kill your humans for you, if you like, so that you can feed without suffering their emotions. I'll even let you manage your subordinates however you see fit."

"Starting with Paul?" Jasper challenged. He looked over my shoulder. "Are you aware, Paul, that Maria has already decided, should I rejoin her, that my first task would be to execute not Carlos, but you?"

I didn't dare flinch or look over my shoulder or anything. One wrong move and Jasper would have Carlos and Paul eating out of his hand. _Think!_ I roared to myself. I had been so wrapped up in talking Jasper out of his new army that I hadn't accounted for the danger of Jasper talking me out of _mine_.

"It won't work," Paul grumbled from behind me. It was all right; I just needed to do some damage control. Good boy, Paul.

Jasper laughed. "She's obviously given you two a different story than she gives most of her creations, if she's brought you up here. But surely you're familiar with the way she runs things. Her strongest creation is the only one who survives. I killed every single one of the men and women she changed for a span of eighty years. Those that survived the battles I led them into, that is. Maria might want me back, but do you? Because I can assure you, if I _were_ to come back, killing the two of you would be my first order of business."

"Times change," I answered, smoothly as I could. "Look at their eyes; you can see that neither of them are newborns. The three of us have coexisted peacefully for the past two years. And if you take my offer to run things as you choose, you'll need both of them. You were always chattering on about leaving more veterans alive so that the army could operate more intelligently. And…" I forced the words out. "You were right. I see that now. That model you envisioned is our best chance at success."

"What success?" Jasper parried. "The extermination of the Arizona Coven?"

_What else, you idiot?! _"That, among other things." I glanced at Carlisle. "Those kinds of details are best discussed in private. I don't know how you run things here in the North. Is Jasper free to leave if he chooses?"

"Of course he is," Carlisle answered serenely. "Because he was never an acquisition in the first place. Our diet does not just help us blend in with our human neighbors; it frees us to form genuine relationships with one another. This is not merely a coven. This is a family, and Jasper is my son now."

"Your son?" I coughed out, finally risking a quick look back at Paul and Carlos. They weren't amused. "I wonder how much you know about your new son, Carlisle? Has he told you how many vampires he has killed- both in battle and in cold blood? How many thousands of humans he's fed on, many of them women and children? What role do you think your new son will play in your little charade? The only thing he's good at is killing, and doing it well."

"He told us everything," a new feminine voice piped up. It was Carlisle's mate, moving up to stand beside him. She held herself upright, but there was violence brewing in her eyes. "We know what you trained him to do… to be." She looked up at Jasper and suddenly the hate vanished. She didn't even look like a vampire anymore. She was a yellow-eyed human, weak and soft with love as she gazed dotingly on her new _son_. "And that makes us all the more proud that he has chosen to live our way."

"And he's more than a killer now," the blond female, Rosalie, added indignantly. "When you don't spend all your time fighting, you actually have the chance to live your life. Jasper is a genius at electronics now. He's been learning carpentry and masonry, and studying world history, and practicing being around humans without killing them- which is no easy task, thanks to _you_."

"I don't know, Rose," her mate said, his voice booming out joyfully. "Maybe we should thank her. She's the one who taught him to fight in the first place, and now he's trained all of us." He grinned larger, his smile slowly baring his teeth as he locked eyes with Carlos again. His meaning was obvious: bring it on, Jasper's trained us and we'd be happy to slaughter you here and now. I finally felt a thrill of fear staring at his gleaming teeth and those enormous muscles; if Jasper had worked with him, I doubted even _Carlos_ would stand a chance. I ground my teeth, determined not to get myself killed here and now. Jasper wasn't worth all this, not by a long shot. But I was _not_ leaving Canada without him.

"Well, Jasper?" I asked angrily.

Jasper narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Even if I were interested, it comes to mind that the last time you and I were together, you were plotting to kill me."

"A misunderstanding," I allowed. One last try, and then I was going to get out of here and regroup. "I can see now that we just needed some time apart. And you needed some time away, time to see how good you had it when you were with me." I dared another step forward, sauntering closer with a confidence he knew wasn't real. But I knew what language to speak in: blood. "Do you remember, Jasper?" I cooed, tilting my head. "Do you remember how richly we fed after our victory in Monterrey? How the blood flowed, when we pushed the Guatemala Coven out into the wilderness?"

Jasper swallowed again, but he stepped backwards to his original place. "Go home, Maria," he said flatly.

I drew in a slow, angry breath. "If you need more time…"

"I have been patient so far," Carlisle interrupted suddenly. "Even though we know you came here to take Jasper against his will. But my patience is wearing thin. Jasper has given you his answer, so you have no further business with us. We are a peaceable coven, but we will defend his freedom if you force us to."

Unbelievable! I jerked back to stand with my soldiers, laughing so I wouldn't scream with rage. "Do you take me for a fool, Carlisle? I wouldn't dream of attacking such a large coven, not with these odds. You have nothing to fear from me." At least, not until I could return with more. I'd start rebuilding my army here and now, because that was the only-

"We are not fools either," the one named Edward called out. "It's obvious that you have every intention of returning with a larger army as soon as possible."

"I suggest you drop that plan immediately," Jasper hissed, leaning forward in an attack crouch. The others copied him, all but Carlisle. And yet he was the most frightening one of all- such a deadly, unnatural calm, and I could almost _feel_ the sinister power he had over the others. Despite the watered-down bloodlust of their backward ways, they were milliseconds away from swarming on me, held back only by the yes or no of this man. His discipline during training must have been brutal for their obedience to be so controlled and exact. I couldn't help but admire that, but this time I was the one in the hot seat. One wrong word- one wrong _thought_, apparently- and I wasn't going to make it back to the U.S. alive, to say nothing of Mexico. I trembled with rage, unable to bear this wretched feeling of _helplessness_.

"Very well," I sneered, digging my nails into my palms. "I can see your new diet has addled your wits to the point where you would be useless to me anyway!"

"Then in the interest of peace," Carlisle murmured dangerously, "I suggest you leave the area immediately. And I think you have noticed that we have certain ways of collecting information. We will know if you change your mind and prove treacherous."

"And we will act," Rosalie snarled.

I let my anger flush through and outside of me, willing myself back together without it. "Then we leave in peace," I said calmly. I stood tall, glancing over everyone again and mentally spewing a few choice words for Edward or whoever was picking my plans out of my brain. My eyes finally rested on Jasper. "Enjoy your new coven."

Traitor.

"Not my coven," Jasper called out behind us as we ran. "My family."

.

.

.

"Family," I spat, shoving a centuries-old oak out of my way once we were out of hearing range. They didn't even consider themselves an army, and _still_ they outshone my century of effort!

"_Family_!" I screamed in frustration, knocking a whole line of trees down one at a time in quick succession. I wanted to tear the yellow eyes out of the leader's mate- it made me _sick_ how she had doted on Jasper. How _dare_ he find that much happiness? How dare he stand there and smirk and enjoy their protection when I _needed_ him?! There was so much to be done! Did he think I created him just so he could lounge around North America, wearing fancy patent leather shoes, contentedly sipping squirrel blood with his new little friends?! I would tear him apart for this! I had never been so humiliated in my life!

"What now?" Paul grumbled.

"What nothing!" I sneered, storming on. "In case you didn't notice, one of them was gifted. I had a plan going, and they knew about it in less than two seconds. Two _seconds_! We're lucky we got out of there alive!"

"So we come back in force," he suggested. Never mind about Jasper's yellow-eyes coming to kill me. I was going to die right here of the stupidity that surrounded me.

"Have you been hitting the squirrel blood too? That. Was. My. Plan! They'll know if we plan anything!"

"Even if we're farther away?" Carlos said slowly.

"We move out a couple hundred miles and build the army," Paul said firmly. "That way it won't matter if they see us coming."

"No," Carlos growled. "We move on without Jasper. Look at us!" He turned on me and loomed over me, his hugeness suddenly taking on a chilling, threatening feel. "We've been roaming Canada for over a year, and for what? So that you can have Jasper back? I don't need Jasper. Seems to me that Canada is wide open for settlement. Carlisle himself said that they're moving on before long anyway."

"The Arizona Coven isn't in CANADA!" I shrieked, shoving hard against his chest. He didn't budge.

"I don't care," he said stubbornly. "And what was all that about Jasper _running _things if he came back with us?"

"It was what he wanted to hear," I growled.

"So do you just tell us what we want to hear, too?"

"Don't be an idiot!"

Paul fell silent, staring at Carlos and me without expression. See, if I had my _empath_ back in my pocket, like I _should_ have by now, I wouldn't need to guess whether he was plotting to murder Carlos in two seconds, or wondering if maybe murdering me might not be a better plan. This was bad- if I didn't kill something soon I was going to talk myself right into a pile of ash.

"You know what I think?" I hissed. "I think we all need to hunt. This has been a long day and we all need to just take a break for a while."

"Hunt," Carlos agreed, relaxing his looming posture. But Paul was still brooding over something as he followed me deeper into the bush. I caught him looking back over his shoulder once. Maybe he'd go back on his own and get rid of a couple of Jasper's new friends for me before they tore him apart. See, _that_ would actually be helpful.

"Come on," I ordered, shaking the map back open. "There's a village up this way."

We made our way into a little settlement called Bragg Creek. We found a nice little woodshop-farm operation on the edge of town, and its inhabitants made for an excellent lunch. I was careful not to turn my back to Paul and Carlos while I fed, though I didn't feel safe giving them any space either. We buried our prey out behind the woodshed.

"All right," I said finally. "Now that we're all calm and civil again, let's decide what we're going to do."

"Go back," Paul said flatly.

"Move on," Carlos grunted.

"Just this morning it was _you_ who wanted to move on," I told Paul peevishly.

"Well I didn't think we would ever actually _find_ him! You saw how he whipped that coven right into shape- that's what we need!"

"Jasper's not in charge of anything there," I scoffed. "The leader, Carlisle- he's the one who's got them wrapped around his finger. That one's a menace." I paused, clenching my teeth and forcing myself to accept the fact that now was not the time to insist on returning to Mexico. At least not until I could slip away from these two. "Carlos and I want to move on," I decided aloud, switching tactics.

Sometimes I make mistakes. This was one of them.

"What do you mean you and _Carlos_?" Paul hissed, drawing closer and looming over me himself in a sudden rage. Instead of coming to my rescue like he was supposed to, Carlos backed away.

"I'm just being realistic," I snapped, backing up myself. "I don't want any of us to get killed when our chance of success-"

"Funny," Paul sneered, stepping closer again. "Just this morning you were singing a different tune. Wanting to kill Carlos ourselves so that we could settle out here alone."

"You're a filthy liar!" I shouted, backing up in a real panic this time. Carlos's face was twisting in a strange combination of hurt and murder.

"Maybe I'll go on without either of you," he muttered. He locked eyes with Paul and for one horrible second I didn't know what they were going to do. _Think fast, Maria!_

"No, you're right," I stammered. "We should go back. But let's not get ourselves killed for no reason. I've handled these kinds of situations before." Paul exchanged a skeptical look with Carlos, but he waited for me to go on. "We scope out their territory," I continued quickly. "We observe their patrol patterns. Then we can lay our strategy, when to attack who when they're separated from the others. Two of these attacks in quick succession, and we're down to three-on-three. The one called Edward will be the primary target since I'm pretty sure he's the gifted one."

Carlos shook his head. "I don't-"

"And you noticed their eyes, right? Now, I've never fed my soldiers animal blood long enough to bleach their eyes out like that, but like I was telling Carlisle, the reason I stopped is that it made their performance begin to slip-strength in particular. That big one, Emmett, might look like he's a match for you, but with his eyes diluted like that, his strength will be even more diluted than I ever let those soldiers deteriorate to."

"I just want to move on," Carlos insisted again.

"Go ahead," I said firmly. I steeled myself and slipped my hand into Paul's. "Paul and I are going back to see what can be done about Jasper. But once we start staking claims around this area- I'm thinking all of Alberta for starters- you won't be welcome. Unless, of course, you come with us and make the odds more favorable, so that the Alberta Coven _can_ be established." Paul squeezed my fingers, and I hoped it was only my imagination that he crushed them a little too hard on purpose. I smiled up to him, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the pain in my fingers as they crackled back into shape, waiting until the threat in his red eyes began to soften. "I was wrong to give up so easily," I sighed. "I just needed to feed. This will take a few weeks more of patience, but it'll work."

"And Mexico?" Paul asked suspiciously.

"Mexico will always be home to me," I said wistfully. _Paul, I am going to burn you for this. Slowly._ "But I can't do it without your help- _both_ of you," I added, smiling triumphantly over to Carlos. "And it sounds like you're not willing to go back down there, at least not right now, so we won't. We've had our differences, but we're in a new land now. Let's see what it has to offer."

I held my breath as Paul and Carlos scowled at each other for a few more seconds, but then nodded their agreement. "For now," Carlos muttered, following behind Paul and me- or rather behind Paul as he dragged me through the bush. I gritted my teeth and played along, because this new plan was my last chance at survival: take them back toward Jasper's coven, cut them loose and then run for my life.

It worked perfectly. More than perfect, actually- for a minute I actually thought my false plan- picking the yellow-eyes off two at a time- was actually going to work. Jasper really was losing his touch, if he thought it was a good idea to come out hunting with just Emmett this soon after a hostile encounter. So much for their all-knowing Edward; he wasn't even here. No sooner had we scented them than Paul and Carlos lost their heads and ran headfirst into the attack.

That was my cue to leave, except for half a second I thought they were actually going to win, so I stuck around half a second too long. Jasper ducked right under Paul's attack and went straight for me, and Paul, faithless bastard, joined Carlos in taking down Emmett. Jasper had me backed up against a rock face in a flash. He didn't strike though; he never had before. He knew, back in his final days with me, that he should have killed me, and he couldn't bring himself to do it. He waited instead, crouched in readiness and totally ignoring his new "brother's" fate as Paul and Carlos tore him apart. But that was when everything went south.

Edward came rushing in like a hurricane. I had never, not in more than a century of warfare, seen anyone move that _fast_. One second he was at the edge of the wood and the next he was plowing into Paul, snarling in rage and tumbling away with him. Their fight was embarrassingly brief.

_Goodbye, Paul_, I thought smugly as the flames took him. _See you in Hell._

"It's not a game, Emmett," Jasper called over his shoulder. He hadn't taken his eyes off mine the entire time. "End it." His nostrils flared as the sickeningly-sweet scent of the fire reached us. Talk about nostalgic! He really _was_ going to kill me this time, or his new brothers were. They had mates to protect, after all, and I was a threat. Emmett dispatched Carlos with surprising ease, using a kick-bite move that was identical to one of Jasper's trademarks. He had taught them, all right.

Jasper finally inched closer, Edward and Emmett flanking him and practically panting with energy. But their yellow eyes were as sad as they were angry. They must have been unhappy about having gotten their designer clothes dirty. "I told you there would be consequences if you crossed us," Jasper hissed, but he didn't move in for the kill. Talking was always a good sign- maybe I'd get out of this alive after all. I'd keep up the game as long as he'd let me. And if I went down today, I'd go down on my own terms.

"What consequences?" I said. "I wanted you to kill them. They were furious when we went away empty-handed. You just saved my life."

"Let me kill her," Emmett snarled.

"Did you see me attacking?" I demanded. I stared into Edward's ugly eyes and focused on the argument I had just barely survived with Carlos and Paul. Whether he could see my thoughts or my past or my future or whatever, I hoped it was enough. "Did you see me fighting? Did you hear me give them any kind of command at all?"

"You stink of lies as much as you ever did," Jasper growled, but he turned toward Edward for confirmation. Whatever that gift was, it was powerful. Why couldn't I have gotten _that_ out of the Civil War? All I got was a lousy turncoat empath. And now I had nothing. Except my own skin, hopefully.

"I admit we circled back to see if there was any other… option." I shifted my weight ever so slightly, ready to spring and make a run for it as soon as I got the chance. "But they were threatening to kill me, I had to give them something! I didn't think you would be stupid enough to split up right away like this. When we crossed your scent, they just attacked without my permission."

The standoff went on for another few seconds. Finally Jasper straightened up, followed by his brothers. "I'm going to give you exactly one hour to get out of Canada. I'll know if you don't. And then I'll be more than happy to watch you burn."

"Shame about Carlos," Edward added. "You didn't even know he was gifted, did you?"

_Gifted?!_

"Some kind of tracker, we think," he went on, wearing the same childish smirk Jasper had worn earlier. "That's probably how you were able to find Jasper so easily. I suggest you don't try again."

"No," Emmett growled, "_Please_, try again."

"I won't bother," I said, and I meant it. Third time wasn't the charm when it came to cheating death with odds like seven to one. I waltzed between Jasper and Edward, giving them a smirk of my own as I did so. Humiliating defeat or not, I had my pride. "I can see where you stand," I sighed. "Though why you've chosen these jaundiced idiots is beyond me."

"I know it's beyond you," Jasper said, and he sounded so pitifully _sad_ that I turned around to look at him one more time. He was already on his way to looking far too human, like the others. He seemed to _want_ to be like them. Well, at the very least I could take that away from him.

"Look at them," I scoffed. "They're not killers, not even when they kill. You'll never be like them."

That hurt him. Good. "Maybe not," he murmured. "But they're my family nonetheless. I'll thank you to stay away from them in the future." His eyes hardened one last time with the unspoken threat. It burned me to the core to see him so loyal to these people- had he ever defended _me_ like that? He had given me eighty years of servitude, true, but that hadn't been a willing gift. I hated that he knew he could be free now, and yet he chose to serve this bunch. How could he even stand it, when everyone except himself was paired off like that? But then, he was an empath. Maybe those feelings flying left and right were just the sort of drug he needed, especially now that he wasn't getting real blood anymore.

Pathetic. I was glad to be rid of him.

I would keep telling myself that until I believed it.

.

.

.

It was the strangest thing; I had lived for over a century, and yet I had never run like this before. My journey north had been the longest trip I had ever taken, and that had been in spurts and stops, hiding from humans, hiding from the imaginary armies that I was careful to invent to keep my soldiers afraid enough to stay close. Well, now I had no reason not to enjoy the run for itself- that thought soothed my pride, since it sounded a lot better than running _away._ I ran from the woods outside Calgary straight down, cutting a line south through the Midwestern United States. The wind teased my hair until it finally slipped out of its long braid, flying loose and free. Even with the foul mood I was in, I couldn't deny the beauty of the land I was passing through. The wide rippling plains called to me as they never had before, whispering promises of a life of peace and quiet. I had never been one for peace and quiet, but I was tired, so very _tired_ of all this. Tired of failing and starting over, failing and starting over. Paul and Carlos hadn't understood me at all. Did they truly think I didn't wish for peace? For rest? Did they think I _enjoyed_ working nonstop with the training and the lies and the shouting and the patrols and the venom and the vitriol? I hated it!

Once I hit the Arizona border, I faltered. I finally crashed to my knees in the dirt, screaming my bitterness in the general direction of Lorenzo and his band of cutthroats, screaming until my venom had dried up and I wasn't producing sound anymore and I was just sobbing, my forehead shaking against my knees on the ground. Too tired to fight it, I lost all hold on that painful, hollow place inside me and it burst wide open, searing me with its escaping flames. _Alonzo, I have tried! I have tried so hard, and for so long, and I am so very tired…_ I wept his name over and over until I hated him again. _Everything_ I did was for him, because he was the only thing I had ever loved. Would he never let me rest?! I loved and hated him so much, so very much. I only wanted to be free… wanted to want it, at least. But he would never set me free. That is what Wars are made of.

And so I did the only thing I could do. I scrambled up to my feet and slapped away the dirt and braided my hair and marched myself down through New Mexico into the panhandle plains of Texas. A few well-placed sniffs told me that neither Lorenzo or El Serpiente had taken advantage of my absence, at least not up here. But the best bloodfields were along the Mexican border, and Monterrey not long behind. Home.

I looked to Arizona with hate-filled eyes, and then turned aside to survey the dusty territory I would be calling home until I had a new army up and running. The thought of starting over from scratch, again, made me feel sick. It made me feel _old_. It made me feel furious because the whole _point_ of these two years, now completely wasted, was to bring Jasper _home_ to make my effort _worth_ something!

I was safe from the yellow-eyes now. I spun and faced the north, burning with rage over my humiliation, but even more over the infuriating look of _pity_ in Jasper's eyes when we had parted. I should be the one pitying him. For one wild moment, I considered going back again and putting Paul's plan into action. But suicide, that coward's escape, wasn't my lot. I knew my duty- it had been branded onto my heart the instant I had smiled at Alonzo when he awoke, the instant I had heard his voice. His scent...

Stop.

I would not think of him, not right now. I closed my eyes, unbreathing until I had sealed the flaming edges of the hole in my chest, welded it closed with the promise of vengeance. I opened my eyes, strong again and ready to wreak the one form of vengeance that was actually easy to achieve. Absurdly easy.

I could play human too.

A doctor! What a joke. We'd see how the good citizens of Calgary felt about Carlisle if they knew a bit more about him. We'd see if Carlisle's mate would still love her new son when she counted the cost. If Jasper's association with me caused him to lose his place in his new coven, then I would have achieved _that_, at least. If it brought him home to me, such much the better.

I sauntered right into town, ignoring the looks the humans gave me and my bedraggled appearance. I headed straight for a phone booth and got a hold of the operator.

"Calgary, Alberta, please, in Canada," I said sweetly. "Police station."

There was a long wait as the human's brain churned to life. "Deposit thirty cents, please."

I shoved the coins into the slot, cooking up my story as I waited. At least this performance wouldn't get me killed if I didn't pull it off. But I would, and easily- humans were infinitely easier to manipulate than vampires. If hurting Jasper was all I had left in this failed battle, I'd give it my very best.

"Calgary Police Department," a male voice finally said. I had never done a Canadian accent before; this should be fun.

"I have to report a crime," I gasped.

"Now, ma'am, take a deep breath. Can you tell me your name first?"

_Nope._ "He killed them! That doctor. He _killed them all!_ His name is Carlisle. I don't know his last name. He has blonde hair. He works at the hospital in Calgary…" I gasped another breath, pleased with my performance. I had never dabbled with the humans over the phone before. "I was visiting my friend yesterday, down in Bragg Creek-"

"Bragg Creek, did you say?!" the policeman interrupted. Ah, so they had already been notified- that would speed thing up nicely, especially if they knew where to find the bodies. This was breaking the Law big time, but then I did that on a regular basis already so I might as well enjoy this to the fullest.

"Yes. She and her husband live there, and there was another man there- a hired man, I think…" I hitched a sob. "We were just sitting there having lunch, and he just broke down the door and _killed them_!" I added a sniffle for good measure.

"How?" the policeman asked. I could hear his pencil scratching. "Was there a weapon?"

"No!" I wailed. "It was so horrible. He just _bit_ them, right in the neck! He's insane! And- oh, you'll think me so silly for this, but it's true…"

"Go on…"

I leaned into the telephone, lowering my voice in impart the final touch. "There's something not right about him. His skin is so cold, and hard like stone… and he looks strange in the sunlight… the others were that way too."

"How many?"

"Seven. They buried…" Sniffle number two. "They buried them out behind the woodshed. They said they were going to eat me later for dinner, but I ran, I ran so fast and I just _know_ they're going to find me!"

"We'll send someone to get you right away, Ma'am. Where are you?"

"No! I can't… they might find out. Just please, stop them before they hurt anyone else!"

"We're on it," he promised solemnly. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"

I hung up and stepped out of the phone booth. Piece of cake- _good luck with that, "Doctor" Carlisle_, I thought acidly. As if he was qualified to practice medicine anyway- he probably just did it for the occasional sip of human blood when his creations weren't looking. The townspeople of Calgary should thank me for this. I looked over my shoulder with a little thrill of superstitious fear, as if Edward or some other magically gifted vampire might suddenly arise out of the desert and swoop down on me. Well, with any luck Jasper's new coven would be rethinking their newest addition within the hour. I doubted that would win me any points with Jasper, but you never knew. At least he would be alone again, and as miserable as I was. It was only fair.

Well, that was done. Time to get down to business.

I drew a long, deep breath, reorganizing myself into a more human, feminine posture as I exhaled. I flounced into a department store and kept my eyes down, stealing a tube of lipstick and a rather fetching red dress that hugged all my curves just the right way. A few minutes working on my hair in the ladies' room and I was back out on the street. I strolled around for a while, eventually finding a saloon that seemed to be attracting the type I was looking for.

I reclined at the bar, sitting pretty and mentally sifting though the riffraff that kept vying for my attention. Finally my eyes caught on a tall young man, lean but strong, with honey-gold hair that was messily tied back. He stumbled a bit and his breath reeked of alcohol, but he looked like Jasper. A _lot_ like Jasper. I stretched and leaned over the counter, getting myself a drink.

"Hey there," I mouthed across the noisy room, twirling the glass loosely in my hand. He was parked at the bar next to me in one second flat, his eyes wide. "You look familiar," I hummed, looking away and touching my lips to the glass. "What's your name, mister?"

He touched his dusty hat. "Wyatt Whitlock, miss. And what might yours be?"

"Whitlock?" I laughed. "Oh, this evening is turning out better even than I expected." I leaned in, setting the odiferous drink aside. "My name is Maria," I murmured so softly he had to lean closer to hear. "And I think that you and I might have a date with destiny tonight, Mr. Whitlock."

He grinned, though he was beginning to look anxious. "Is that so?"

He followed me out the kitchen door and into the shadows of twilight that were just beginning to paint the alley a dark red. He reached for my shoulder, but I spun him around with one hand and wrenched his throat to my teeth. I bit deeper than I needed to, poor man- but his last name had earned him a little extra suffering along the way. He writhed against my grip, his scream muffled against my other hand. I dragged him out of town into the darker shadows, one hand on the scruff of his jacket and the other clamped over his mouth.

"This is your lucky day, Wyatt Whitlock," I announced, smiling as I looked grimly out onto the southern horizon. "You're in the army now."


	28. 1933: The Girl In The Mirror

**I'm finally branching out and writing Rosalie and Emmett! While not really a two-shot, these next two outtakes will go nicely together, the first one being Rosalie in 1933 and the second, Emmett in 1936. This one here is just sort of a typical day in Rosalie's first couple months, set between chapters 8 and 9. So she's just been to the symphony, but hasn't heard much of Esme's story yet, and hasn't yet conceived of taking her revenge on Royce so most of her anger is still directed at Carlisle. It's not a happy outtake, really, but hopefully you'll be able to see the beginnings of her love for her family here.**

**Both these outtakes are dedicated to staringatthesky. Her beautiful and versatile writing has really made me fall in love with the complicated Rosalie, her place in her family, and her very human love story with Emmett. If you've never checked out her stories please do! She's got lots of canon stories from various Cullen POVs, a Medieval Twilight (currently in progress), a canon-friendly AU, a wonderful AH Rosalie/Emmett, and even a story about Jane! Thank you, Rebecca, for your wonderful stories, for all your help, and most of all for your friendship :)**

* * *

**Early May, 1933**

**Rosalie POV**

She was beyond beautiful; there was no denying it. Her lips were perfect and full, her cheekbones were a work of art… the eyebrows just right, subtle enough and yet bold, ready for rapture or disdain on a moment's notice. The eyes… well, Carlisle had promised they would get better. But some frightening new part of me liked the red. _Ferocity_ had never been a word I would have never been comfortable with before, but then so many things had changed. _Danger_, the eyes screamed. _Stay away_. _Run for your life_, or perhaps even _stand still while I decide what to do with you_… whatever I chose.

I came to see her often, this girl in the mirror. Sometimes it was just to check, to make sure Carlisle's promise was slowly coming true- that each day the eyes brightened toward golden a little more. Sometimes she caught my eye as I passed, demanding that I turn and stare in wonder yet again- wonder that _she_ was who I had become, that my beauty had really been sharpened to that point. Sometimes I was strong enough to ignore that summons- to march right past the mirror and refuse to face what he had turned me into. Sometimes I was the one who stalked _her_. Sometimes I marched right up to the mirror and stared in frozen accusation, waiting for the tears that would never come.

One day I grew tired of waiting and made them myself. My fingers collected a trickle of water from the sink under the mirror in the powder room downstairs. I painted the false tears on my eyes and watched as they tumbled down, breaking over the sculpted cheekbones and making their little rivulets down to my chin. I painted them again and again, until the golden curls- perfect curls, mind you, not too tight and not too loose- grew heavy and limp on my collarbone.

The mirror lost that day.

But regardless of when and why we met, that girl in the mirror and I, it usually ended the same way. I would stare, mesmerized. Turning this way and that to examine the perfection of her curves, practicing smiles that even Edward couldn't see through, trying on the same dresses and suits and ensembles a dozen times to decide how best to stand and walk in each one. It wasn't just the shock of the new perfection; I was scarcely a stranger to it, after all. Carlisle's poison had only refined what was already there. It was familiar, and I needed that. Edward had once, in his own bungling version of chivalry, offered to take own all the mirrors in the house, at least those which I chanced upon most often. He had seen the shards of the powder room mirror and _gallantly_ offered to banish them all on my behalf. He had seen things in my mind, and that made him omniscient, naturally. He thought he understood me so well.

He didn't understand a thing about me! I _needed_ this, just like he needed that ridiculous piano twenty-four hours a day. Even when he wasn't fiddling with it, he could count on it being there. Even when his muse "hit a wall", as he angrily called it, and he slammed the lid and stalked away, he needed it. Why should a mirror be any different? If his music was an outlet, the girl in the mirror was an inlet. Even when she smirked back at me in her perfection, taunting me with the excess of beauty which had led to all this nightmare, I needed her. She was my anchor, reminding me that I was still myself, or at least that I _had_ been myself, once. That Rosalie Lillian Hale had existed. That she was flesh and bone and beauty… not just a vapor who was slipping away a little bit more each day. It was strange- I had so wanted my life to be a fairy tale, and now that I found myself in one, I wanted no part of it. The girl in the mirror, cast in her prison of glass, was freer than I would ever be again. _She_ was true immortality, true perfection- just a picture. _She_ could tuck her fears behind her back and they would disappear. She felt no fire in her throat. She had no memories, no broken destiny… no past. Her skin, so hard and artificial in her reflection-me- looked like it could possibly be soft. In the right light, she looked almost human.

And so I needed her. If I let them take her away… I would be left with only myself. I carried all those things, and I could not lay them down. I very much preferred that Rosalie Lillian Hale's fate should have gone _her_ way- a tragedy, admittedly, but a closed one, leaving behind only a gilded portrait that her loved ones could hold in their hands and touch as they remembered her. It would have been the portrait Mother always kept on that little table beside the piano. It had been taken the summer before, out on the veranda next to the blue hydrangeas, and I was wearing… I think it was the…

The girl in the mirror scowled and I stomped the heel of my shoe down so hard I felt it punch through the floor. Oh, _why_ couldn't I remember!

"Rosalie, dear," Esme called from down the hall, sounding slightly alarmed. "If you're not busy just now, I could really use some help…?"

I yanked my heel out of the floor, frowning down at the torn wood. It was only another imperfection, after all, in a houseful of holes and cracks and uneven lines and badly papered walls. My new senses could see every little line in the paint, hear every insect that found its way into the attic. I could feel the jarring tilt of the floor in the hall as I walked to Esme's bedroom. But this house was her pride and joy, because her darling Carlisle had built it for her. He had owned this property for at least a century, having once lived in the original house as a bachelor. When he had brought Esme and Edward here two years ago, he had torn down the old place and let Esme design this one. At least they had hired builders to do most of the work- it was embarrassing enough that they had done the finishing work themselves, and done a terrible job at that. Esme fancied herself a cheerful middle-class human housewife, happily ruling over her little kingdom and happily sending Carlisle and Edward off to work and school so she could happily putter around and happily wait for them to come home.

Marvelous. What was _I_ supposed to do?

"Laundry day," Esme said, as if she had heard my thought. She had taken off her shoes and was perched on the king-sized bed, surrounded by a wadded load of wash just in from the clothesline out back.

_Oh no you don't_, I argued silently. _Edward's school days at the only time I have my mind to myself!_ But I smiled stiffly instead, sitting opposite her and distastefully picking up one of Edward's socks. _This_ was what Esme expected me to do with my days, at least until I was "old" enough to go out alone. Play house with her. As if they didn't have gobs of money to hire out their laundry, to say nothing of the landscaping and the painting… the burn in my throat was evidence enough as to why they didn't have any help in the house, but my _goodness_, you would think Carlisle would have the decency to spare his wife this level of drudgery! But I was learning that Esme adored keeping house, so why shouldn't their new daughter adore it? I supposed, in all fairness, that Esme's simple upbringing had groomed her for this sort of work, but we hadn't all been raised on _farms_.

Not that she ever really ordered me to do anything, but her gentleness was that kind that you couldn't ignore for long. And you couldn't really talk back or give her any real sass, because it was like kicking a dog. She was just so soft and sweet and eager to love. I watched her now, out of the corner of my eye, humming and looking so perfectly content, like folding Carlisle's handkerchiefs was just the highlight of her day. It probably was.

I loved her back, in my own way. She was certainly the closest thing to a mother I would ever have now. And yet she reminded me so much more of Vera than of my own mother… she even looked like Vera. She had that same caramel hair, its arrangement neat and simple, and that same contented look as she moved throughout her day at home. She even had that sun-bright smile that broke out suddenly when she heard a familiar set of tires pull off the main road. But it was more than that, it was the way she looked at me… like I was worth paying attention to. Like she genuinely cared how I was feeling today, even when I was too moody to put up with that care. I might have simply forgotten, but I couldn't remember very many other ladies looking at me that way before… certainly not Mother. We folded the laundry in the quiet for a while- at human speed, because that was the way she liked it- with only the slightly off-key music of her humming for conversation.

Esme's humming was the first sound I had heard in this new world. At first there had only been the fire, licking and tearing and consuming. Its roar had made everything else fade away. I thought, sometimes, that I could hear someone screaming, but then I thought I had imagined it. I was sure that time had ceased, that the fire was forever… and then I heard it. Music, of all things, floating so far above me that I could just barely catch it. But it was all I had, and so I clambered up the walls of Hell and grabbed onto it like a lifeline. If the notes of the melody rose and fell, that must mean that time was passing after all… that there might be an end. I counted those notes, finding comfort in the rhythm and rise and fall of the warm, sweet voice. Trying desperately to figure out how long it would be until the song would end… until the pain would end. Because after a while I had begun to hear whispered promises that it _would_ end. Then, as now, I let her humming soothe me, soothe the throbbing fire that stubbornly clung to my throat, that made every muscle clench as if I was about to jump out the window and go running barefoot in the forest.

I closed my eyes, still mechanically folding clothes as I drifted along with her humming. I felt the stone tension in my shoulders begin to unwind and my fingers stopped strangling the socks in my hand. Things weren't so bad. I wasn't _completely_ cooped up in the house these days. I had triumphed and gone to the symphony in Oneida. I had worn the red organza that night. Now that I had proved myself, Carlisle had agreed- rather nervously- that we could go out more often. Still only outside, and still only at night, but I was determined. If I could prove myself tonight, then perhaps next time they wouldn't all three have to come. Or maybe they'd take me out in the daytime, if it was cloudy enough, or maybe something indoors…

"Thank you," Esme said, breaking my concentration. When I opened my eyes, I still had the same pair of Edward's socks in my hand, crumpled and folded into a tight wad, while she had gotten half the load done already. "I wanted to get started on those cookies soon, and I'd like to get a second coat on the wall in your room before we leave… that way the worst of the smell will be past when we get back home."

I tossed the socks into their pile and grabbed another, fishing through the pile for its mate. "You could do it much faster than this," I reminded her for the tenth time. "And I still don't see why you do the cooking yourself. If you feel you must contribute, we could just stop at a bakery on the way." The memory of wonderful smells awoke at the thought, but then I supposed I wouldn't find them so wonderful anymore. It wasn't like they would let me get out of the car in the first place.

"You know I like doing it this way," Esme said, with that smile that always looked like it was going to turn into a laugh any second. "It's very… satisfying, feeling that you've accomplished a task, when you put a little more work into it. And holding back on the speed is most certainly work! But," she added, leaning forward slightly in conspiracy, "that's nothing compared to dealing with the smell of baking." The smile turned the corner and a wisp of laughter slipped out. I couldn't help but smile back, even if it was just because she was so ridiculous sometimes. She really was happy, in her own little way. Nothing delighted her like pretending we were a happy, human family.

_Family._ She was the only person in this house I could stand more than half the time. I really wasn't looking forward to Edward's summer recess from the University… though they'd be moving then, and I'd be moving with them. Where else would I go?

I reached for a wad of pink satin, folding it quickly and tucking it into my pile of unmentionables. But then my hand froze, images of calendar pages rushing through my head.

"Esme."

"Hmm?"

"How long has it been? Since Carlisle… I mean, since I woke up?"

"About five weeks, why?"

_It's not possible! Is it?_ "I haven't… I mean… do we still have our…" I waved a hand toward my pile of underwear, surprised not to feel the heat of a blush. "Every month…"

"Our monthly flow?" Esme smiled gently. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think to explain that… no, our bodies don't do that anymore. We don't make our own blood, and we aren't capable of-"

"Any change, I know," I interrupted anxiously. "All right. I just wondered… about that." Esme went back to humming and folding, but the knots in my stomach only tightened further as the memories of that last night assaulted me yet again. Most of my human memories were blurry or full of holes, but not those. They were crystal clear. The bed and the pile of clothes blurred and threatened to disappear, replaced by darkness, a light snowfall, cement…

I would _not_ lose it in front of Esme again. It hadn't happened in over a week now. So as the memories closed in and I knew I was about to crumble, I slid off the bed and rushed back to my room. "Have to look for something," I mumbled before my throat closed completely. I nearly broke the knob off my door, but managed to close it behind me just before my knees gave out and I collapsed, sliding down the wall into a stone heap on the floor. I hugged my knees and clenched my teeth shut, willing myself to stay quiet while I fought my way back up to the surface, up through the pain and the laughter and their leering grins looming over me. I finally gasped out a breath, as quietly as I could, and forced myself back to my feet.

I crossed the room and stood before the mirror. She didn't look so perfect now; her eyes were wide and her chest was silently heaving, her arms clenched around her stomach. _Enough._ I waited as she slowly returned to normal, the tension uncurling until she was smooth and calm and perfect again. One of the best things about this false body was how easy it was to erase all those marks of terror… to go back to being the girl in the mirror, when I was strong enough to try it.

I tore my eyes away from her perfection and looked down, my gaze catching instantly on the ring finger of my left hand. It was empty now, because Carlisle had taken the engagement ring and used it to stage my death. Not that I would have wanted to keep it, but I hated him for taking that liberty, with my ring and my life. He had _no right_ to make those decisions for me!

But it was the nail on that finger which caught my eye now. It had been torn that night, either on the rough cement of the sidewalk or on one of their faces- I really didn't care to know which one- and apparently the venom couldn't fix that sort of thing. I had woken up to find that one imperfection, half the nail torn away and the other half jagged and sharp. Esme didn't have any nail scissors because they didn't work on us, and we didn't need them anyway. I had spent hours and hours carefully gnawing my way around the torn nail, reducing and shaping it until it was smooth and curved just above the quick. And I couldn't bear to ruin the nine others to match that one, so for the rest of eternity I would have this glaring reminder… this one mark he had left on me that could never be erased.

The girl in the mirror didn't have that reminder. She always stood tall and sure, a hint of a proud smile on her face and the fingers of her left hand tucked behind the folds of her skirt. I gazed back into her eyes now, lifting my chin and letting her strength fill me so I could get my thoughts back on track.

Of course… it made sense. We couldn't have periods any more than we could have the measles or a new gray hair. But I glanced down again, spreading my fingers over the rock-hard smoothness of my abdomen. It was possible, wasn't it? That with all the seed sown so violently, that the beginnings of a child had been planted that night? That I hadn't been the only one turned to stone when Carlisle had _saved_ me with his poison?

I wouldn't even know who the father was. Was this something I would have wanted, if I had survived? Knowing where it came from? _Where she came from_, I thought curiously. _Where he came from._ My fingers clenched into a fist, still against my waist, as the angelic face of Vera's baby came into focus. He had been the most precious thing… what was his name? _Henry_, I remembered suddenly. _Baby Henry._ He had had black curls, a dimpled smile, and when he had waved his pudgy fists in the air to balance himself, the whole world had seemed to soften. I could remember holding him in my arms, his warm weight shifting my center of gravity.

The girl in the mirror was smiling now. Not that proud, confident readiness, but a smile like Vera's. A _beautiful_ smile, unaffected and warm. _I'm going to have this, too_, I remembered thinking, and the smile began to crumble. I would never have that now.

I glanced toward the hall, toward the comfortable humming coming from Esme's room. I wanted so desperately to run in there and fling myself in her arms and cry ask if it could be true… that I might have a baby frozen inside me. But I knew what she would say: "Oh, I'm not sure… let's ask Carlisle." That was her answer to everything. And besides, what did she know about babies? She had only been married for a short time, and when her husband had died in the war she had flung herself off a cliff only to find herself in Carlisle's arms… or something like that. She had tried to tell me more of her story once or twice, but she was well aware I didn't want to hear it. Every story of hers ended up with Carlisle, one way or the other. _Carlisle_ knew everything. _Carlisle_ made everything better. Carlisle was her happy ending. Her fairy tale had come true.

There were times when I ached to pour everything out to her, to claim the only mother left to me, but then I remembered that she and Carlisle were a package deal. But that was for the best, I supposed; I needed to become the girl in the mirror as thoroughly as possible, and blubbing on the shoulder of the nearest female wasn't going to help that along. Besides, with my moods these days, I would only end up shouting hysterically and then they would say that I wasn't ready to keep going out.

I _was_ ready. I had to be. Tonight's outing was a silly little thing, a play being put on some local group of homegrown actors… nothing I would have bothered with before. But it met Carlisle's requirements for an approved outing: far enough away, outdoors at night, all the humans would be sitting still and not mingling, plenty of seating so we could stay on the fringes… in other words, as dull as possible so that the newborn wouldn't mess up. But it was something, I supposed, a chance to get out and feel like a part of the world again. To be _seen_ again, to take the girl out of the mirror and make her real.

The clock chimed three, bringing my thoughts to a halt; Edward would be home soon. I stole one last glance in the mirror and turned away, glancing around my room until I found a magazine to occupy my mind with. Before long I heard the motor that signaled the end of my freedom to think in peace, followed by the clatter of Edward's footsteps on the porch. And, like always, his friendly chatter with Esme soon gave way to the music of his piano downstairs. Not even a _hello_ for his supposed sister. Well, two could play that game.

"_Hello_, Rosalie," he called cheerfully, not missing a beat in his song. He sounded like he was about to laugh. What a beastly child! A pain flashed through my chest at the thought of the little brothers I had left behind, but I quickly laid it to rest, replacing it with a thorough critique of the dress I was to wear tonight.

For once, I was going to wear something made by a real designer. Not that Esme hadn't done a lovely job with the few dresses and skirts and things she had already made for me- the red organza had been particularly gorgeous- but even when she used the latest patterns she always had a bit of an old-fashioned touch. I tossed the magazine aside and flung open my wardrobe door just to take another peek. The dress seemed to jump right off its hanger and into my waiting hands… oh, why not? The play was only in four hours. I opened the wardrobe door even further so that the mirror couldn't see me, and kept my eyes averted as I dressed. No matter how cool Edward played it, he _was_ a boy and I still couldn't get used to the idea of being undressed with a telepath in the house. But I refused to let his presence dictate when I could and couldn't get dressed. _Mind your own business_, I thought sharply. I could almost hear him rolling his eyes from up here.

The silk slid over my skin like a whisper. In less than two seconds I had done up all the buttons I could reach and was twirling back around to see myself in the mirror. At first I hadn't liked the color- green had never been my favorite- but it was one of the new designs out of Paris this year, and Esme had been _so_ excited when she brought it home. So I had put on a smile for her and tried it on and fell in love with it instantly. The green looked darker than I had first thought, even a little bluish when the right light was on it. It had short puff sleeves that sort of morphed into a capelet on their way up, with wide buttoned cuffs and a neckline that was reserved in the front but a little daring in the back. The waist went on forever with a neat line of buttons and it had just the slightest hint of flare in the skirt. I turned to one side, letting the silk swirl around my knees again. I supposed it was meant to be an afternoon dress, but then our outing wasn't exactly begging for eveningwear, was it?

I was torn for a little while between the black evening slippers and the black suedes, but I chose the slippers. I would have preferred cream, or perhaps something dyed to match the dress, but Esme hadn't been so focused on shoes yet. And I had no jewelry to speak of, though Esme had given me permission to borrow whatever I liked of hers. Surely nothing bright with this one… there was a pearl necklace that should follow the neckline nicely…

"Lovely!" she announced as she entered my room, paint can and brush in hand. "And those shoes will do just fine. Maybe the pearls with that one?"

"I was thinking just that," I admitted as I slipped past her. "What are you wearing tonight?"

"Oh, I don't know! Why don't you pick something out for me when you get the jewelry?"

I smiled at her over my shoulder. "All right." I passed her dresser and went straight to her closet, easily selecting a darling pink tea dress that was light enough to bring out the highlights in her hair without clashing with them. I lingered over her things, running my fingers along the various fabrics and marveling again at how different they felt to me now. And she had so few formal dresses and suits- didn't Carlisle ever _take_ her anywhere? Not that it mattered to me- most of her clothes didn't even fit me, what with my height and bust. Still, I wondered what the story of each piece was as I flipped through the colors.

I laid her dress on the bed and carefully opened her jewelry box. _Feather touch_, I recited as I delicately sifted through its contents. I found the pearls, but a green glint at the bottom made me dig a little deeper. It was a lovely pair of earrings, little flowers with jade petals around a tiny pearl. But why would Esme have these? She didn't have pierced ears.

"Esme, when did you get these?" I called out. "The earrings with the little pearl-and-green flowers?"

Esme's laugh rang out against the _swish_ of her paintbrush. "They were given to me by one of Carlisle's patients. A lovely older lady who unfortunately needed his attention quite often. It was funny, really, she was so terribly sweet to him but it…"

I rolled my eyes as she went on and on about how Carlisle had charmed every female on the planet even when he desperately tried not to, how the younger ones were always blushing and the older ones were always trying to mother him… the usual. I put on the necklace and held the earrings up, sighing into the mirror. They were _perfect_ for this dress! Just the kind of understated elegance that would pass for normal at the play tonight. And of course I could have worn them when I was human, but the venom had "repaired" the piercings in my ears and now they were made of immutable granite. I fiddled with the clasps for a moment, wondering if something could be done to turn them into clip-ons. But I wasn't sure I wanted to be caught dead in those either- _or undead_, I thought with a scowl- so in the end I returned them to the box.

Edward's music stopped and he appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. "Do we need to go hunting before tonight?"

I swallowed and refused to wince at the burn there. Of course I was thirsty when he brought it up! "I'm already dressed."

He blinked. "We're not leaving for another two hours, at least."

"I know… I haven't even decided how to do my hair yet!"

He chuckled and disappeared again. I shook my head and turned back to the mirror, beginning to fiddle with my hair. Boys really were a mystery sometimes.

.

.

.

It was hard to decide which was worse, the smell of the baking cookies or the paint fumes coming from my bedroom. I finally went outside, lounging on one of the patio chairs and watching the clouds and ignoring the book in my hands. I had tried and given up on three hairstyles already, and my frustration wasn't good for my thirst.

Carlisle came come earlier from the hospital than he had planned. He didn't usually work the day shift, but he had arranged to have tonight off because of the play.

"Hello, Rosalie," he said as he drew back down the garage door. "You look lovely today… a new dress?"

"Yes, Esme found it earlier this week."

He nodded absently and headed for the back door, but paused halfway up the walk, his nose wrinkling. "Good heavens," he murmured. "What is going on in that house?"

"Cookies _and_ paint," I explained, giving him a faint smile.

"I think I'll join you out here, then… as long as possible!" He sat in the other chair, his eyes drifting briefly to the book in my lap. He looked awkward for a moment and then appeared to gratefully discover the pile of mail in his hands. I sighed and stared back up at the clouds. How come we could move faster than the human eye could see, but we couldn't speed up time? Each day seemed to grow longer, and it was so dull sitting here in the middle of nowhere with nothing but birds and clouds for company. And I certainly didn't want to sit out here in awkward silence with Carlisle.

"Can't take the smell anymore," Edward grumbled as the back door banged behind him. He nodded to Carlisle in greeting as he passed between us. "I'm going down to the river for a while."

"You're all cowards!" Esme shouted from inside the house. At first I thought she was angry, but Carlisle was doing that laughing-silently-while-reading thing.

"Rosalie wants her ears pierced," Edward announced over his shoulder just before he ducked into the woods.

_When are you going to learn to mind your own business?!_ I thought angrily. "Never mind," I growled to Carlisle, who was looking at me quite studiously now.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I don't have anything that would be able to pierce the skin, aside from…" he trailed off, looking uncomfortable as he gestured toward his mouth. I clenched my teeth and looked back up at the clouds, refusing to dignify that with a response.

"Yes you do!" Edward called from the woods.

"No I… oh, yes I do," Carlisle murmured to himself. He was silent so long that I thought perhaps he had left, so I finally looked at him again. "I could try," he said gently. "I admit I've never done that particular procedure before, but… I actually do have something that might work."

I frowned. "What?"

"Something a friend once gave me, long ago…" he trailed off, his eyes glazing over again that way they did when he got lost in his memories. He stood, turning towards the house and gesturing toward the door. "Join me?"

My curiosity was even stronger than my sense of smell, so I went with him back into the house and upstairs into his study. I had never been in here before. The walls were packed with bookcases, and books were also overflowing off of some smaller shelves that had been hung on the walls. Besides the hundreds of books-some old, some new, some in other languages- there were stacks of brittle, yellowed paper, all sorts of paintings covering every inch of the walls above the bookcases, and little odds and ends dotted around the room. A huge ornate desk filled a good quarter of the room, strewn with even more books and crisp-looking medical journals, as well as a picture of himself, Esme, and Edward with the Statue of Liberty in the background. The air was heavy with dust and mold, as well as some sharper smells coming from a little row of vials up on one high shelf. I never would have guessed Carlisle could be so _sloppy_.

"I think it's in this one," he said absently, kneeling down by a trunk and flipping open its latches. It opened with a creak and after setting aside a stash of papers, he drew out what looked like a jewelry box. It was beautiful_,_ delicately carved out of some dark wood with twining leaves and animals and stars. Tiny rubies were set as the eyes in each of the animals, and some of the stars were inlaid with diamonds. I couldn't even begin to guess how much the box was worth. Carlisle carried it to the desk and opened it, revealing a bed of red velvet on which rested a neat row of white instruments. I supposed they were medical instruments: there were three blades, all different sizes, and two needles, one with an eye and a smaller one without, and a long hook-shaped thing, and two other sinister-looking objects that I hadn't the faintest guess about. Carlisle selected the smaller of the two needles.

"I don't know," I said, drawing away slightly. "What is that even made of?"

"Bone," he said absently, examining the needle with interest. "Vampire bone, I mean. I _think_ it would work," he added to himself, testing the sharp point with his fingertip.

"Ugh! What kind of friend gave you that?"

"Do you remember what I told you about the Volturi? The coven in Italy?" I nodded. "Aro is one of the three who rule jointly. He was the one I spent the most time with during my time there. I found a sort of kindred spirit in his company… we differed on a great many issues, but we shared a deep curiosity about the nature of things, the sciences in particular. He has also made an extensive study on the supernatural world as a whole, both the mythical and…" he smiled. "Things that _should_ be mythical. He has performed and compiled a great deal of research regarding our species. Anyway, he was quite amused with my desire to learn and practice medicine. Sadly, like so many of our kind, he does not share our respect for the sanctity of human life… he could not understand why I would trouble to devote myself to their care. He also had an interesting sense of humor, to say the least. When I took my leave of his coven, he presented me with this. I can't imagine how many hours it took him to fashion it." He looked back at the other instruments. "I suppose he copied the design from some of my regular instruments. He said I would need a _proper_ set of instruments, in case I ever got tired of patching up humans and decided to care for my own species."

"But why would you need these?" I asked. "You told me that we hardly ever get hurt, and that our bodies just repair themselves if it does happen."

He laughed again. "I think it was meant as rather a joke. I couldn't fathom a scenario where a vampire would require any medical procedure involving tools such as these… until today, that is!"

I twisted the silk of my skirt between my fingers. "And you think it will work on my skin? Would it hurt?"

"I don't think it would hurt any more than when you had your ears pierced before… at least not the bit with the needle. In order for the hole to remain open, I'll need to apply just a bit of venom. I think that might sting just a bit, though it'll only be on there for a moment."

I squeezed the fabric tighter between my fingers, shaking my head. "I don't want your mouth on me again."

"No, of course not," he protested, quickly crossing the room to retrieve the black bag he took to work every day. He set it on the desk beside the carved box and drew out a small silver case. I frowned, expecting some other bizarre collection of implements, but it only contained a few cotton swabs, a small bottle of clear liquid, some gauze, and various other tools that a normal doctor would actually carry around.

"What are you two working on?" Esme asked, tapping on the door as she came in.

"Making strides in vampire medicine," Carlisle announced cheerfully. "Although in this case I might be more of a jeweler than a surgeon… Rosalie is thinking about having her ears pierced."

Esme looked surprised. "We can do that?"

Carlisle went over the explanation again, enthusiastically showing her the bone instruments. She wrinkled her nose. "And whose bone is that, exactly?" she asked.

"I don't know," Carlisle admitted. "Aro always had various odds and ends lying around. Anyway, I was explaining to Rosalie that in order for the holes not to close again, I'll need to apply a bit of my venom." He flourished one of the cotton swabs, and then dug inside his black bag again, retrieving an empty syringe. "I could fill this with water and irrigate the wound to clean out the venom. If it goes according to plan, the venom will scar the damaged tissue just enough for the hole to remain open. Well, Rosalie, shall we try it?"

"I don't know," I muttered, staring at the needle in his hand and trying to imagine a dead person's bone being stabbed through my ear.

"I'll do it," Esme volunteered.

"Have you ever done it before?" I asked doubtfully.

"No!" she laughed. "I meant, I'll have mine done first. You can watch, and then decide if you want to go ahead with it."

"Oh. All right."

"You're sure, love?" Carlisle asked her. "It would be quite permanent."

"I would have done it years ago, had I known it was possible! Well, where do you want me, doctor?"

He decided that she should sit in the chair behind his desk, so that she could lay her head down on her arms with her ear up to the ceiling. He retrieved an old towel and draped it over her neck and shoulder, clearing away her hair.

"Saline or regular water for the irrigation?" he asked nobody in particular. "Saline, surely… less impurities that might interfere with tissue fusion…" He filled the syringe with the clear liquid that had been in the little bottle. He squirted some of it onto the needle and carefully wiped it dry with the gauze. But as soon as he brought the needle close to Esme's ear, it snapped in half in his fingers. He stood back up, staring at the rubble in his hands as though he had just witnessed a miracle.

"Fascinating," he mumbled, studying the jagged, broken ends of the needle. "I didn't expect…" He stopped breathing completely, lost in thought, and then began murmuring more long words to himself.

"Can we still use one of the pieces?" Esme asked. "Carlisle?"

He blinked and seemed to remember that we were in the room. "I have another… just the one, though. I'll be more careful this time." He cleaned the larger needle with the saline, this time handling it as if it were made of glass. "Ready?" he asked Esme.

She hummed her consent and he went to work, ever so carefully pushing the needle through the stone flesh of her earlobe. There was an odd little screeching sound, like an animal was screaming far out in the woods somewhere. Esme flinched slightly and he froze in place. "No, I'm fine, it doesn't hurt much," she reported, her voice muffled by her folded arms and sleeves. "The noise just startled me."

He withdrew the needle and immediately picked up a cotton swab, whisking it inside his mouth for a moment to coat it with his silvery venom. Esme's brow furrowed as he dabbed the venom into the puncture wound, and despite myself I leaned closer in curiosity, trying to catch a glimpse inside the torn flesh. I couldn't see much; the flesh was white inside, but the venom was already doing whatever it did. Next he gathered a handful of the towel directly under her ear and used the syringe to wash the venom out.

"Does it sting?" he asked her worriedly.

"It did, a bit," she answered. "When you put the venom in it. But it's gone now- oh!" She sat up suddenly, raising her hand to her ear. "It's feeling sort of tickly now."

"I think that's the tissue healing," Carlisle said. "We'll have to see if the venom worked like I thought it would. I don't know if I left it on long enough." We all waited, Carlisle and I watching in fascination as the miniature wound shrank somewhat. But his plan worked; the healing soon slowed to a stop, leaving a hole that looked almost normal, if too large by a hair's width.

"Feels right," Esme said, tugging curiously on her ear. "Rosalie, would you get the earrings so we can try it?"

I dashed out and back in, handing her the earrings. She carefully slid one into the new hole and pronounced the procedure a success. Carlisle went to work again and soon she was smiling into her hand mirror, wearing both earrings. The second time had looked easier, and it looked like he had been perfectly symmetrical. "All right, I'll do it," I announced.

"You could wear these tonight," Esme said, taking the earrings back off. "They're perfect with that dress."

"But then you won't have anything to wear tonight," I pointed out, though I held out my hand to accept them.

"Oh, that will be soon remedied," she promised. "You could help me pick some out- Carlisle, when do you think she could go out shopping?"

"Shopping?" Carlisle said, his eyes darting to mine. "That's quite a jump from an outdoor concert at night."

"I'm doing well," I interrupted. "Aren't I? You've said it before. And the only way to get used to moving around people is to _move_ around them."

Carlisle focused on the needle for a moment, carefully scrubbing it again with the saline. "I suppose you're right," he said uncomfortably. "It's just that you're doing _so_ well that everything is quite ahead of schedule, and your eyes are still red. And all it would take is for someone to accidentally cut themselves…"

"_Please_, Carlisle," I moaned. "I'll be careful, and I'll keep my eyes down. And Edward could come with us, or you, just in case. I just want to get out and _do_ things again!"

"Perhaps after we've moved…" He was weakening. I was proud of my self-control, because I wanted to shout at him that it was _his_ fault I couldn't be around people, but I didn't. He would only get that miserable look and use it as proof that I wasn't ready, and I _was_ ready. I had to be.

"So this can be a test tonight," I offered, pleased with how calm I sounded. "If I do well again- and you know I will- then I can go out with Esme. We could wait until next week."

Carlisle frowned. "We'll see how tonight goes," he agreed. "Then we'll take it from there. If you do well, perhaps our next step could be an event indoors, but in a large space- another concert or play, where everyone is seated and we can stay out of sight."

Fury welled up inside me, all the more potent because I couldn't let it show. I smiled instead, almost feeling my stone flesh cracking from the tension as I forced it out. "Whatever you say. But I _know_ I can do it."

"And confidence is important," Carlisle replied. "But so is prudence."

"Carlisle's right, dear," Esme soothed. "One day at a time… we have all the time in the world, after all. No rush."

I kept my mouth shut after that, afraid I would lose my shaky grip on my temper. It had been _her_ idea to go shopping in the first place, but of course she would side with Carlisle as soon as he opened his mouth! I sat and laid my head in my arms, refusing to wince as the needle stabbed through my earlobe with its little shrieking sound. Carlisle left the needle in place this time while he prepared the venom, and then he slipped out the needle. He quickly applied the cotton swab, coating the edges of the wound with his poison as he spun it around. My fingers crushed my hair as the familiar flame began to burn its way into the torn flesh. _Only for a second_, I told myself firmly. _It won't be like before. _ But I could already feel the phantom flames creeping down my neck and out my arm; it seemed like only a moment ago I had been drowning in the lake of fire. My insides twisted and my breath quickened.

"Get it out," I demanded, my nails digging into the polished wood of his desk. "Get it out _now_!"

Carlisle hastily switched the swab for the syringe, flooding the wound with the saline. Almost immediately the flame was quenched. "I'm sorry," he said, filling the syringe again and soaking the shoulder of my dress as he pumped more saline into my ear. "Did it hurt very much?"

"Of course it hurt," I hissed, sitting up and kneading my ear. "I'm fine. Let's get the other one done."

"You're sure?"

"I can't very well go around with one pierced ear, can I?" I snapped. But I drew a deep breath, forcing myself to look up into his wounded eyes. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry. I know you're doing the best you can. Let's just get it over with, please."

He worked quickly. The flames were smaller this time, and he worked in a blur so that the whole thing was over in less than ten seconds. He cleaned up while I tried on the earrings.

"Perfect," Esme proclaimed, giving me her warmest smile.

.

.

.

"Are we going to be late to every engagement for the rest of eternity?" Edward grumbled downstairs.

"Ladies!" Carlisle called, with just a hint of exasperation.

"Just coming," Esme called back, releasing the curling iron. The last golden curl tumbled down to join the others, and I moved it slightly to the right so it didn't hide the earring on that side. "Ready!" Esme called, scampering out of the room.

I took one last look in the mirror, turning slightly to make sure the curls were laying right on the sides. I put on a carefree smile, pleased when the girl in the mirror smiled back without reservation. The earrings really did make a difference, balancing out the curve of her neck and anchoring her features. It was one more little piece reclaimed of what I had lost. The girl in the mirror had no memory, so she didn't know the difference. She was as carefree as she looked, not even noticing that she kept her left hand tucked out of sight. I broadened the smile a bit, satisfied, and carefully made my way down the stairs.

"Your hair isn't going to fall out between here and the car, I promise," Edward muttered, holding the door open for me. I brushed past him, refusing to dwell on how handsome he looked in his tweed suit and necktie, with his hair all slicked back and shining. Even the piggiest little boy looked nice when he dressed up like Father.

I really hoped that after we moved, something could be done about the car. It was so cramped in the backseat, and I could hear every clunk and rattle from the engine. I didn't know a thing about cars, but surely it wasn't supposed to sound like that? At least Esme had shut up the cookies in a lidded glass dish so that they didn't stink up the car _that_ much.

We were fashionably late. The play had already started, but we weren't the only ones sneaking in at the last moment. Two other families were just getting out of their cars down the row. One was a younger couple with children, and the other was a handsome middle-aged couple who were dressed well and accompanied by their two young sons, about my age, or perhaps Edward's, who pulled at their ties and looked as though they would rather be anywhere else in the world but here. The younger one turned and saw me, and immediately nudged his brother.

"Get a load of that," he whispered loudly. The older boy turned and blushed when he saw me, and I felt a little taller. The mother of the other family saw me as well, and self-consciously smoothed her own skirt, which was really too long for this year and the color didn't complement her hair at all. But she couldn't be blamed for doing the best with what she had, I supposed. There was one good thing about having a "father" who was probably the richest doctor on the face of the earth.

"Shall we?" Edward sighed, offering his arm. Carlisle was already escorting Esme down the aisle, naturally choosing a row of seats _so_ far back that only our vampire eyesight would make it possible to see and hear.

It was a childish thing to do, but I did it anyway. As we walked to our seats, I brushed a little too hard against the row of seats behind ours. The granite statue of my leg crashed against the metal chair nicely, and a good portion of the audience glanced over their shoulders to see what had made the sound. I was instantly rewarded with several blushes that matched the one the boy had just given me in the parking lot, and a mixture of approving and envious expressions from some of the girls. Of course a good half of _them_ looked right through me to Edward, but I didn't begrudge him a little attention.

"You're right, that was childish," he said under his breath. He all but shoved me into my seat, studiously ignoring all the feminine attention until it was distracted back to the stage. But we had arrived, and for once I felt as beautiful as I looked. I tucked my left hand into a fold of my skirt, smiling back at a young man who had discreetly looked over his shoulder a second time.

He didn't matter, himself; none of them did. Being close to a young man ever again was the furthest thing from my mind. But the more people saw and believed in the girl in the mirror, the more real she would become...the less it mattered that I wasn't soft and warm anymore, that I wanted to stand up and drink the blood of everyone who blushed for me. That I carried these horrible memories and hurts that were frozen into place… that I might be carrying even more than that. My free hand grazed the fabric over my waist, but I would not think about that right now. Right now, I was Rosalie Hale again.


	29. 1936: The Girl In My Arms

**Late Spring, 1936**

**Thunder Bay, Ontario**

**Emmett POV**

"Pay attention," Edward ordered.

I _was_ paying attention. Judging by the three footsteps, the squeak, and the swish just now, Rosalie had just crossed from our closet to the upper left hand drawer of her dresser, the one that had the really good underwear. And since the swish sounded silky, but not lacey at all, that narrowed it down to the blue and the pink and the white…

"To me, not to Rosalie's knickers," Edward sighed, twisting my necktie hard enough to kill a human. "Now listen up. Up through the loop from underneath…" he jammed his fist into my throat again.

"Watch it," I growled, giving him a shove. He stumbled backwards, taking my neck with him. I reluctantly dragged my eyes away from the hallway in order to land a better punch square on his jaw. Of course he dodged it. Pansy.

"How is it that you're twenty-one years old and you've never learned to tie a Windsor?"

"How is it that I haven't broken your nose in almost two weeks?"

"Fine, do it yourself." He shoved me back, headlong toward Esme's full-length mirror. I screeched to a halt with my nose half an inch from the glass. "Now _listen_." He grabbed another tie out of Carlisle's wardrobe and threw it around his own scrawny neck, stationing himself back beside me in front of the mirror. "Wide end over small end. Then up through the loop underneath," he began again, tying his own noose as he went. This time I copied him perfectly, just to annoy him.

"Don't be so nervous," he chuckled, already heading out the door once I was Windsored. "It's not like she's going to divorce you if you step on her foot."

"Who's nervous?" I muttered, looking back in the mirror and pulling the knot away from my throat again and wiggling in my jacket to try and get another inch out of the sleeves. I looked dumb in brown. "It's only my first date with the most gorgeous woman in the universe."

"Love you, baby," Rosalie purred from our bedroom down the hall, and I heard the swish of silk on marble. Aw, hell… I wondered how long it would take to get out of this necktie.

"Too long," Edward said from downstairs, trilling a scale on his True Love The Piano. "Your reservations are at seven. Get going."

This had been his idea, the traitor. _You haven't killed anyone in months_, he said. _Rosalie's been itching for you to take her out properly_, he said. _Trust me, I know_, he said, doing that idiotic temple-tap thing. I'd been a vampire for six months now, a married man for four. So he was right, I guess: now that I was done accidentally eating the neighbors I really didn't have a decent excuse for not taking my baby out on the town.

I cracked my neck and took one last check in the mirror with my goldish eyes. Hopefully they'd still be that color when we got back home tonight. At least blood didn't show much on a brown jacket; maybe that was why Rose had picked it out. Huh.

I zipped over to our bedroom, but she still had the door locked. Okay, so she wanted to do that down-the-stairs grand entrance thing again. I happily parked myself at the bottom of the staircase, ready to be blown away. The best part was, I always would be.

Always.

"You're going to have a wonderful time," Esme announced with a sparkly smile. She tucked a little flower onto my lapel and a folded hankie into my jacket pocket. I ducked down and pecked her on the cheek.

"I'm ready."

I straightened up just in time to feel my face split with a grin as she floated down the stairs. _Rosalie._ She was all dolled up in a creamy not-really-white thing, all curls and curves and wisps that wanted to be touched. I watched her come down from Heaven, and then kissed her hand, inside her elbow, her shoulder, up the side of her neck.

"All right, all right," Carlisle chuckled, giving my shoulder a push toward the door. "Have fun, you two." He sounded just a little nervous. Man, I _really _hoped my eyes were still golden when we got back tonight. My new Dad might only be three years older than me, but I still didn't like to let him down. And I think everyone was getting a little tired of moving.

Carlisle and Esme waved us off from the porch and stayed there while Rosalie drove us off. "I'll drive us one of these days," I offered, trailing a finger along her neckline.

"Mmm," she answered. Was that a "take my clothes off" mmm or a "fat chance, you're never touching my car babies" mmm? Women were so mysterious. You'd think a married man would have cracked the code, but you'd think wrong.

We were in town all too soon. I was taking Rosalie- or I guess she was taking me- to one of those fancy restaurants whose name I couldn't even pronounce. Because obviously that's what vampires do for their first date, right? No, because if there was one thing I knew about my wife it was that she liked to play human, and she liked to do it in style. You couldn't get more stylish-human than a night of fancy dinner and dancing. And I had been at school for a while now, so I was getting to be a pro at making a meal look half-eaten.

"Stay put," I told her, getting out as soon as we parked. I went around and opened her door, earning a quick smile before she stood up and lit up. It was like a miracle; every time we got out of the car in public it happened. She would stand up tall and it was like all those grudges and demons just rolled off her. As soon as I got more confident (and hopefully got permission to touch the car keys) I would take her out every night I could, just to see that.

"You're so beautiful," I sighed.

"So are you," she whispered back, adjusting my tie and brushing her fingers against my jacket before tucking them inside my elbow. I walked her up to the door, standing up straighter after I ducked inside. I took a careful sniff, relieved to find the food stench nicely drowning out the human scent… mostly. There was a family over in the left corner that smelled delicious. _You're here to eat, not to drink_, I recited nervously. Funny, I seemed to remember thinking that as a human at some point.

Rosalie was murmuring something about our reservation to a human. He led us winding through the tables toward a little nook tucked into the shadows of a bunch of plants.

"Hey," I said, tapping his shoulder. _Gently!_ I shouted to myself as he stumbled forward. At least I didn't think I had broken anything. "We didn't come here to hide under the plants. I mean, look at my girl. Don't you think she should be right in the middle of the dining room where everyone can see her?"

"Of c-course, sir," the man stammered with a fancy accent, his eyes darting anxiously toward Rosalie. "But we're quite full tonight. It would be at least another half hour-"

"Here." I shoved two fifties into his hand. "One for you, one for that wrinkled couple over there if you can get them to move to the plant table." I pointed to a pair of humans that looked like they were going to keel over any second. Even their blood smelled like it was past its expiration date.

I got Rosalie seated at the new table. By the time I sat down she was staring up at me with that sparkly you're-my-hero look in her eyes. I grinned back and scooted my chair in, wincing as I heard the wood creak. Modern furniture had nothing on Esme's antiques for durability.

What were you supposed to talk about in a place like this? Back at home- especially back in our cottage, may it rest in peace- it was all chatter and sex and laughs. Easy as breathing. But here, I was so out of my element it wasn't funny. And the worst part was that Rosalie _was_ in her element. She had been filthy rich as a human, back up in New York. Silks, jewels, limousines… dashing young gentlemen who knew what to say. She had probably eaten at a place like this every week. Whereas I had spent my human years plugging the cracks in our chink-log cabin and shooting my own dinner. Was I sitting right? Did my tie need fixing again?

"Why'd you choose brown?" I blurted out.

"Brown what?"

I flicked my collar. "Brown, for the suit."

She gave me a secret smile, leaning forward without putting her elbows on the table. One of the big curls in her hair tumbled forward, but caught on her shoulder so it didn't fall all the way down. "Because you remind me of a grizzly in brown."

I took my elbows off the table. "And that's a good thing?"

She shrugged delicately, making the curl slide back into place. "So I've heard. Edward says you're going to _love_ grizzly when we finally get far enough out west."

"Mmm, can't wait." Just the thought of hunting bear made our fellow diners smell even better. Probably shouldn't think about that…

We sat in awkward silence for a few more minutes. Finally a waiter came and handed us our menus, babbling quietly about the wines. I opened it and growled under my breath; of _course_ it was written in French. Great.

Rosalie skimmed the first page and then murmured something in French to the waiter. He nodded graciously with a little bow and turned to me, waiting. Um.

"Steak," I said roughly, flinging the menu closed. "And bring it out still mooing." Rosalie frowned slightly. "Your best cut, of course," I added, trying out that snobby whine that Edward preached about music in. It must have worked, because then I got a little nod-bow, too, and he left.

More awkward silence. Well, awkward for me. Rosalie looked right at home, lounging back in her chair like a movie star and gracefully looking around the room, pretending not to eat up the stares she was getting. A pianist had just started to play softly.

"Do we dance now?" I asked.

"After dinner."

"Oh."

I drummed my fingers on the table, wishing I had brought a deck of cards or something. Finally the waiter came back pushing little cart, but it was just a bottle of wine and little plates of salad. We also got a bucket of ice. I didn't know what it was for until he poured the wine and nestled the bottle down into the ice.

"I get it," I said triumphantly, pointing to the bucket. "Instant icebox."

"Of course," the waiter said primly, giving another little bow.

"Other fork," Rosalie murmured behind her hands. I switched forks and heaved a sigh, stirring my salad around. Maybe I should just wear a sign around my neck that said "Don't mind me, I'm just a country bumpkin who's never set foot in a nice restaurant before".

"Are you nervous?" Rosalie asked suddenly. "I mean, you're not…?" She touched her throat worriedly.

"No, that's okay," I said, looking over her shoulder at the Delicious Family. "Got it under control."

"Well, then?"

I hunched over my salad, chopping it into smaller and smaller pieces in slow motion. "I just don't… fit in here, you know?"

"I know exactly what you mean," she said, leaning forward so that the curl was teasing me again.

"No you don't. You can speak French and you know which forks to use-"

"So? You could learn French if you wanted to."

"Are you kidding?" I snorted. If only she knew how dumb I really was before! "I mean, I know I could, but it's more like…" I rubbed the back of my neck and the chair creaked dangerously again as I leaned back. "This just isn't my scene, you know? These are _your_ kind of people. Your kind of place." I waved my hand around at the rich humans and the fancy glasses and the exotic plants and the eyes that were fixed on my wife. I felt like I should just get out of the way so they could see her better.

"Not anymore," she said softly, looking around. "Not really. It _is_ nice to dress up and pretend to be a part of things again, but… that's all it is. Pretending."

"Guess I feel like I don't really belong here with you," I muttered to my salad. "Even pretending."

Her hand stretched out to mine. She was smiling with butter-soft eyes, that way I liked where she looked at me like the two of us were the whole world. This was the first time she'd ever given me that smile in public before. "Emmett. You belong everywhere with me." She looked around again. "Yes, this used to be my world… and we probably wouldn't have given each other a second glace back then. But everything's different now. I have _you_. I chose _you_."

I sulked another minute, concentrating on the feel of her fingers inside mine. "Yeah. But you still want all this back, right?"

Her smile grew a little naughty. "Is it so wrong to want everything?"

I growled quietly and squeezed her hand, pulling her a little closer. The curl finally tumbled down and I hooked a finger in it, getting my elbows on the table and my sleeve in the salad. "Not when you're _you_. I want you to have everything I can give you, _plus_ all this."

Her head tilted a little. "And that's why you wanted to come here tonight?"

"Well. The restaurant was Edward's idea. But I'm the one who told him to poke around in your head and figure out an evening that would make you feel like a Rochester princess again."

She stopped breathing and her fingers tightened inside my hand. Her expression didn't change, but her eyes turned from butter back to ice.

Oops.

I cussed under my breath. "Baby, that's not… you know what I mean, right?" She tried to pull away her hand, and I let her. I knew without looking that she was tucking the fingers of that hand away in the folds of her dress like she always did when she was upset.

"I know," she said, but she still wasn't breathing. "It was really sweet, Emmett. Thank you." Her smile stretched even bigger, but it wasn't _that_ smile anymore. Just like that, I was back on the outside. It was tough- always knowing that at any second she would curl back up behind that plastered, mirror-perfect smile, leaving me out in the cold… but it was what it was.

Carlisle had given me plenty of warning, a couple of days before the wedding. A real man-to-man talk. Women are complicated, he said, and wives are the most complicated of all. How had he said it? "You must never cease in your diligent effort to really _know_ her, Emmett, and that includes learning when to pursue and when to give space." He reminded me that Rosalie had been through a lot of hurt, like Esme had, and that made my job even tougher. Fair enough. But how was I supposed to know when to talk and when to shut up? When to hold her hand tighter, and when to let it go? This was so much easier at home. Every time things got dicey like this, Rose would climb into my arms and put her finger on my lips and let me comfort her the old-fashioned way. Or she'd leave, simple as that. She always came back.

This time, we were stuck. She couldn't just get up and walk out- not without me being stranded, anyhow- and somehow I had a feeling she wasn't about to crawl up onto the table and start shimmying out of her dress. We just sat there, me brushing salad off my sleeve and her smile wearing thinner and thinner. It made me realize how little talking we'd done _at all_ since the wedding. We'd done a good bit of talking up until then, but… well, I guess we'd been a little busy since tying the knot. I knew every glorious square inch of Rosalie Cullen.

But that still wasn't enough. I wanted to know Rosalie _Hale_, too. I wanted to know the girl behind that mirror-perfect smile, the one I got these fleeting glimpses of before she slipped through my fingers again. She thought _she_ was the one who wanted everything, but she was the everything _I _wanted. Was it so wrong to want more than what she was giving me? I wanted to crawl inside her mind and look around her memories and her dreams and her hurts- if only so I would know what the hell to _do_ with it all. I wanted to know why she did that thing with her left hand. I wanted to know why she sometimes smoothed her hand down her stomach, when her figure couldn't be any more perfect. I wanted to know every miserable thing that worm Royce had ever said to her, along with complete lists of any other words I shouldn't say, ways I shouldn't look at her, gifts I shouldn't give her. _Rochester princess_, I grunted to myself, mentally adding it to the don't-say list. Or was she upset because Edward had crawled around in her head to come up with the kind of evening she would want? Or that I had put him up it? Which list did this conversation even belong to? Oh, and where was my list of clues to help me know which mood she was heading toward _before_ I sprang it? The lists wouldn't even be any good because the rules were always changing.

Carlisle had said once how our kind are just as thirsty for knowledge as we are for blood. I didn't really get that, not at first when I was so busy slurping my way through the forest. But I was starting to understand now. I wanted to spend the rest of eternity studying the complicated subject of Rosalie Hale Cullen... if she would just let me.

"Sorry," I offered lamely. I laid my hand open on the table again. It took her a minute, but she finally picked up her other hand- the not-hidden one this time- and put it in mine. I grinned and rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb, and she finally started breathing again. "That's my girl," I whispered, drawing her hand up to kiss her fingertips one by one. I felt like I should say something else, but I couldn't think of anything good. "Truth is," I began, surprised I was saying it out loud, "I'm much better at talking when I don't say anything."

Her hand stiffened a little, but she didn't pull away again. "So am I," she admitted, looking around at the restaurant. "I'm... trying. You know that, don't you?"

I squeezed her hand tighter. "I know. Some things take time." We sat in silence for another while, but it was a little easier this time. The waiter finally came back with the food. My steak smelled surprisingly decent. I copied Rosalie this time, looking bored and keeping my hands in my lap until the waiter was gone. Rosalie wrinkled her nose down at her plate.

"I used to love this," she said, delicately slicing into the mush with her knife and fork. I studied the way she held them, doing my best to copy that too; she was holding them differently from the way she did at school. The steak split open and a little puddle of blood trickled out.

"Emmett," Rose said sharply, and I realized I was leaning in to slurp it up. I sat up and grinned sheepishly, dipping my finger into the blood instead.

"It's not even that good," I sighed, sucking the juice off my finger. "Looks good, though, doesn't it?" A little too good. I peeked at the Delicious Family again. My throat was throbbing hungrily, pulsing in time with their heartbeats. Ugh. They really needed to leave soon.

Rosalie relaxed, fiddling with her dinner some more. "I don't even remember what this stuff inside is called," she sighed.

I flopped my napkin over the bloody steak. "Come on," I announced, pushing back my chair. "Let's dance now."

Rosalie glanced around. "No one else is yet."

"So we'll start it up. Come on, beautiful, let's show these wimpy humans how it's done."

"Ssh!" she giggled, sweeping up out of her seat and following me out onto the little dance floor. I might not know how to hold a fancy fork, but I was pretty good at dancing... now, anyway. I had come a long way since fumbling through Eleazar's crash course right before the wedding. Rose and I danced all the time now, though never before with a roomful of humans watching us... watching _her_. The sounds of chewing and chatter almost stopped completely once we started to move, swaying gently at first in time with the music. The pianist transitioned into a new song, one that had a bit more swing to it. He was no Edward, but it was good enough. I grinned down at my girl, watching as she came alive in my arms. Maybe food wasn't the best way for her to feel human again, but this was perfect.

It didn't take long for the whispers to start picking up. "_Gorgeous... get that dress?... look at those legs!... lucky and he knows it... __Gee, why can't I... so perfect together!"_

_Perfect together._ I liked that one. I liked it all, even the whispers that weren't so friendly. Rosalie was a pro at pretending she wasn't hearing a word of it, but I could tell. Her dancing got a little bigger, and the pianist changed songs again to keep up with her. Another couple got up to dance.

"Told you we'd get them going," I said cheerfully, pulling away and spinning her. Her golden hair flung out in a circle, followed by the frills in her dress and an exhilarated smile, and I _wanted_ her. "Let's do that one again," I muttered, spinning her again and this time catching her in my arms. Two more couples got up, but I barely saw them. Rosalie was the whole world, glowing and smiling and surrounding me with her music. I swung her out, staring in brainless wonder at how she could become this much _more_ beautiful. We were full-on jitterbugging now, the piano pounding out enough fun to drown out the heartbeats that had been dividing my attention. She laughed breathlessly, leaning her face into my shoulder as our moves nearly knocked another couple off the dance floor. "Double spin," I whispered in her ear, and I let her go.

She was glorious, her wrists twining up in the air as she spun and spun again. Her hair was a spiral river, shining silk pouring down over my arms as I darted out to catch her in the end. We swung around and the nearest couple backed away laughing uneasily. I dipped her low, so low her feet swept off the floor and she screamed her laughter as I scooped her back up with one hand. The whole restaurant had become our audience now. Their applause lifted her up like a cloud. I felt my heart would bust; I had thought Heaven was back in our cottage, but her laugh here was a whole new Heaven, and we both knew it. You didn't _need_ words for moments like this.

There had to be six couples out now, though it was getting so crowded it was hard to tell. We rocked and switched and dipped again, and then her eyes glinted with mischief and she dipped _me_. Oh, that did it- half the restaurant was on their feet now, chattering excitedly and rocking in place and clapping. I whooped with joy, twirling down onto my knees and dancing with her there for a second, before jumping up to catch up to her triple step.

We got fancy in the next song, bringing in a little Lindy Hop and Charleston. The crowd drew back then; let's face it, they couldn't handle us anymore. Rosalie didn't seem as happy though; she liked being the center of attention, but she liked being a _part_ of the center even more. "Come on back here!" I roared to the others jovially, and I might have overdone it; they all gasped and jerked back a step, afraid, but then they obeyed quick as a wink, filling the floor up again even if they did cut us a wider berth this time.

"Yeah that's right," I growled in my girl's ear, slipping my hand in through a slit in her dress. I felt up her spine, drunk on her happiness, and suddenly I wished we were alone. She stared up at me, slowing her dancing and saying the same thing with her eyes. My hands drifted up to her face and I kissed her good, the thrumming of the dance floor going on around us and through us with our eyes closed. I had a sudden inspiration.

"Gimme that," I mumbled around her mouth, pawing blindly at her left hand. I slipped her rings off and stashed them in my jacket pocket.

Rosalie frowned, pulling away. "What-"

"Ssh. Secret," I said, capturing her lips again. We soon swung back into dancing, joining the others in applause as the pianist finally stopped to gasp for breath and get himself a drink. Okay, here goes...

"Rosalie Cullen," I called out. My booming voice cut instantly through the chatter. All eyes snapped onto us. Rosalie gave me a look of confused warning, but let me catch both her hands. "I love you," I announced, and sank down onto one knee. Half a dozen girls gasped and squealed on cue, but Rosalie's eyes just grew wider and wider. "I love you so much," I said more softly, now that we had quiet. Now that I was making a complete fool of myself in public, I had never felt braver. "You're my whole world, baby, and I want to dance through the rest of eternity with you." I slipped the engagement ring out of my pocket, careful to leave the wedding band behind. I held up the diamond, realizing with a mental shrug that I was already out of fancy words. "Will you marry me?"

"Always," she breathed, and the crowd went nuts. Girls crying, couples pressing in to congratulate us, the pianist scurrying back to his seat to pound out a wedding march. It was hilarious how dumb the humans were- like that ring hadn't been on her finger three minutes ago! I had scarcely slipped the ring back onto Rose's finger before she had a little throng of girls and older ladies leaning in to coo over it. I gave them a couple minutes.

"All right, all right," I said, finally pushing my way back in to claim her. "Mine," I growled cheerfully, scaring off a Dapper Dan who thought he was going to take my girl for a congratulatory spin on the dance floor. Rosalie fell into my arms, gazing up at me in disbelief.

"I can't believe you just did that," she giggled, shaking her head as we picked up the slow dance that was playing now.

"Me neither," I confessed. "Rose?"

"Mmm?"

I lowered my head to whisper in her ear, feeling shy now. "Did you... did you like that? I mean, I just sort of got this crazy idea and went with it, and I know we got a little wild for such a fancy place-"

"I loved it." Her eyes were sparkling. She was giving me that smile again- we were the whole world together.

I grinned, feeling ten feet tall. "You did? Well maybe I should propose more often, then."

She just laughed, leaning her head on my shoulder as we swayed. That was probably a yes.

I grinned, getting another flash of inspiration- was this what it was like for Edward when he got a song idea and tramped over to his True Love The Piano with his eyes all wide? "Maybe we should get _married_ more often."

She stopped swaying. "Wait, what?"

I shrugged. "Why not?" Anything to make this Heaven for her again and again. For us.

"Well..." she sighed, but she couldn't help but smile through it. "I mean, we're already pushing it here... you know we're not supposed to attract attention, and you being so new..."

"So? We'll go do it somewhere else. We'll use fake names and the whole shebang." I leaned in to whisper. "We could do it like this- pull the whole thing on an unsuspecting crowd, you know? We could go to Vegas or something... we'll invite the whole dance floor along for fun and drive off and never see them again."

She giggled again, shaking her head. "You're crazy sometimes."

"Only crazy for you."

Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around and looked down to see the waiter. He looked a little flustered. "Our manager sends his congratulations," he announced, waving toward our table which now held a little white cake. "And everything is on the house tonight."

We thanked him and he shyly gushed over Rosalie in French for a minute. She nearly gave him a heart attack, leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. But then I spotted a shabbily-dressed man making a beeline for us, pencil and notepad in hand. He was followed by another man with a big camera. Reporters... that was pushing it a little too far, unless I wanted a lecture from Edward _and_ Carlisle when we got home.

"Time to go," I hissed in Rosalie's ear, and we ducked through the crowd.

We made a night of it. We found a jazz club downtown where the dinner tables were already pushed out of the way and we did the whole thing again. This time the swirl of faces around us was black and white, and I proposed again. We danced half the night away and then found another little hole-in-the-wall club where everyone was younger and poorer. There was a five-piece improv jazz band there, playing and arguing their way through new styles. But once we got to dancing they couldn't be happier to keep up with us until the sky outside started to lighten. Both Rosalie's heels broke off and I made a show of carrying her out, serenaded by wolf whistles and another wedding march.

We finally got back to our car at the first restaurant, just in time to escape the sunrise. We talked the whole way home, laughing over our pranks and chatting up this crazy plan in which we would go to Vegas and try my wedding idea.

"Let's go to our cottage tonight," Rosalie said suddenly, slamming on the brakes halfway down our driveway.

"Today, you mean," I said lazily. "And if you remember, we broke the cottage last week."

"It's not _that_ broken," she protested. "And besides, most of my clothes are still back there." She lifted a torn flap of her dress.

"We wouldn't want Edward to be scandalized," I agreed solemnly. We only stopped at the main house long enough to park the car, and then we took our time dawdling down the path we had cut to the cottage. We had quieted down now, and reality started to hit with the daylight. "I was kidding about Vegas," I assured her. "If we do it we'll go somewhere nice-"

"No," she said dreamily, tangling her fingers in mine and swinging our hands as we walked. "Let's do this one your way. Tonight was amazing, Emmett. _You_ made it amazing." I scooped her up suddenly, spinning around in circles as her shriek carried through the trees. The sun broke through the trees then, making my angel shine as she laughed.

She was beautiful, this girl in my arms. She was all the more beautiful now for her undignified laughter, for her tangled hair... for letting a little of her brokenness shine through. She thought she had to hide that best part of herself, but it was what I wanted most. I loved every bit of my girl, from the mirror down to the horror. This whole thing had started with her being my hero, and I was going to spend the rest of eternity trying to be hers.


End file.
